Sometimes, The Best Way To Help Someone

She Is Well Practiced In The Art Of Losing Herself.

She’s Not Pretty, That Word Is Too Small. She Is Not Like The Girls I Used To Stare At, All Bend And Curve And Softness. She Is Small But Strong, And Her Bright Eyes Demand Attention. Looking At Her Is Like Waking Up.

Maybe There's More We All Could Have Done, But We Just Have To Let The Guilt Remind Us To Do Better Next Time.

And Don't Pay Attention To Christina. Your Face Doesn't Look That Bad." He Smiles A Little. "i Mean, It Looks Good. It Always Looks Good. I Mean--you Look Brave. Dauntless." His Eyes Skirt Mine, And He Scratches The Back Of His Head. The Silence Grows Between Us. It Was A Nice Thing To Say, But He Acts Like It Means More Than Just Words. I Hope I Am Wrong. I Could Not Be Attracted To Al-- I Could Not Be Attracted To Anyone That Fragile. I Smile As Much As My Bruised Cheek Will Allow, Hoping That Will Diffuse The Tension.

I Was Angry With Him Before. I’m Not Really Sure Why. Maybe I Was Just Angry That The World Had Become Such A Complicated Place, That I Have Never Known Even A Fraction Of The Truth About It. Or That I Allowed Myself To Grieve For Someone Who Was Never Really Gone, The Same Way I Grieved For My Mother All The Years I Thought She Was Dead. Tricking Someone Into Grief Is One Of The Cruelest Tricks A Person Can Play, And It’s Been Played On Me Twice.