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kuangningPeople lose people. I don't know why we are all so damn careless. Folks lose their kids, men lose their women, even friends get lost if you don't keep an eye out. I look through the windshield at the houses going by. For every person sitting in them houses, watching TV or eating a ham sandwich, there's someone somewhere wondering where and why they lost them. All those lost people, carrying on their everyday business like the air's not full of the sound of hearts breaking and bleeding.
(Billy Dead, Lisa Reardon, p. 1)
She adored reading. Bright, self-confident, maybe a bit too quiet for her own good, but blessedly normal, in her braids and school uniforms. She trusted everyone, because no-one had ever hurt her more seriously than a band-aid could fix, and there weren't any problems, not even her mother's moods, that Daddy couldn't fix.
I left her behind a door with peeling paint, and I wish I could have left the memory there, too.
She was reckless, sharp edges and self-destruction, chasing death like some people chase happiness, and finding people who wouldn't help her throw herself over the last step, but didn't mind pushing her closer to the edge. She didn't believe in anything, and anyone who believed in her, she was out to teach the lesson she'd learned.
I left her in someone else's hands; I walked away from her and I never thought I'd miss her.
She believed in redemption. She believed in second chances, in persistence and determination, in understanding being the ultimate means to the ultimate end. She believed that one dream, one prayer, one song, could change one heart, and that one heart could change one tiny corner of the world. She believed in holding on.
I left her facing futility. I left her learning that some things can't be helped, that sometimes, all you can do is walk away. I left her behind, saying that I'd never forget the lesson again.
Never again.
(Billy Dead, Lisa Reardon, p. 1)
She adored reading. Bright, self-confident, maybe a bit too quiet for her own good, but blessedly normal, in her braids and school uniforms. She trusted everyone, because no-one had ever hurt her more seriously than a band-aid could fix, and there weren't any problems, not even her mother's moods, that Daddy couldn't fix.
I left her behind a door with peeling paint, and I wish I could have left the memory there, too.
She was reckless, sharp edges and self-destruction, chasing death like some people chase happiness, and finding people who wouldn't help her throw herself over the last step, but didn't mind pushing her closer to the edge. She didn't believe in anything, and anyone who believed in her, she was out to teach the lesson she'd learned.
I left her in someone else's hands; I walked away from her and I never thought I'd miss her.
She believed in redemption. She believed in second chances, in persistence and determination, in understanding being the ultimate means to the ultimate end. She believed that one dream, one prayer, one song, could change one heart, and that one heart could change one tiny corner of the world. She believed in holding on.
I left her facing futility. I left her learning that some things can't be helped, that sometimes, all you can do is walk away. I left her behind, saying that I'd never forget the lesson again.
Never again.