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224 pages, Paperback
First published December 21, 2010
"I hope he’s found peace, wherever he is. I hope I do too, wherever I end up."
“I'm always leaving, but I never have anywhere to go.”
My hands are dying
I have to get him back. I close my eyes and think of the photograph Culler showed me. I see it in my head perfectly. He'll be there, at that school. Another piece of my father. And then another. Six pieces. I will find them all, put them together. I'll find him. And then I'll let him go.
I let him take a photograph of my hands. I don't know why.
I leave my voice in there. I think. My heart.
There is nothing to say. These burdens. Nothing worth staying for. What could I even say.
I wake up alone. I know it before I open my eyes.
He lowers his camera and stares up at me. "You trust me," he says quietly.
My father is dead. He killed himself and no one can tell me why. Why. And my mother isn't wearing his housecoat and I want her to be wearing his housecoat. I want to say, don't give up on this, because then I'm the only one left with it, but I can't speak. I lean forward so she can't see my face, and before I can stop myself, I start to cry. I cry so hard I can't breathe. I can't see. I feel like I'm coming apart.
Maybe it all got to be too much for him. I'd understand that. It has to be something like that. But I wish he'd told me he felt that way, because I'd forgive him that. If he told me that, I'd forgive him
Imagine you’re the weight around a person who jumps.
That you are what keeps them falling.
My hands are dying. I keep trying to explain it to Milo, but he just looks at me like I’m crazy.
“They don’t feel warm—they haven’t.”
We’re all lost in different ways, so how do we even help each other find our way out. We won’t. We We can’t. We’ll just stay lost forever.