For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.
“Suicide is the most sincere form of self-criticism.”
Technology has made it easier for us to communicate with one another.
Growing up, I would hear the same line constantly: “Our family had a history of mental illness and depression, and that’s why this or that happened.”
We ran. Time stood still.
Red. This dress was red.
Except it wasn’t.
For all the times I’ve wanted to die, I think about kissing new mouths or falling in love with someone and growing old. It would be an honor to gain wrinkles with someone.
“You’re one of the very lucky ones,” he whispered, “For you can see what nobody else can see. It’s typical for people to live their lives without ever seeing it for what it is.”
I was a bully. There’s no other way to say it. I was the kid who made you scared to hear the recess bell. I was the kid you avoided after school. I was the kid who made you cry to yourself at night after your mom had shut off the light.
It made me feel terrible, especially as I got older.
I’ve been working for our town’s little one-room for over 20 years now. You know what’s difficult about being a small town librarian? There are no children’s librarians, no reference librarians.