Storm

When you’re born, you’re a baby. That’s something we can all agree on. But you’re not just a baby. No.

You’re a story.

A beautiful, bouncing, gurgling story.

A tale to be treasured.

and I tried to get one going, but proper tears wouldn’t come, because: a) I didn’t deserve to feel better

Guilt, like a million tiny fishhooks, twisted and caught inside me.
A good cry will make you feel better

My mind felt like a field at dusk, filled with secrets I couldn’t see, things that rustled in the grasses.

I realized that none of them were smiling. Just like that, the whole house changed. Like a drop of paint falling into water, sadness stained the room.

called it a disagreement—she called it arson.

I know, underneath it all, you’re trying to control your temper. We know it’s a challenge for you, and I love you for making an effort, I do.

If I’d known how things were going to turn out, I’d have done it all differently.

What happens to strong emotions if you’re not allowed to feel them? Where do they go?

but however you live and whatever you do, the story of your life will end with a death.