When we die we turn into stories. And every time someone tells one of those stories, it’s like we’re still here for them. We’re all stories in the end.
A house is like a person’s body. The walls are like bones, the pipes are veins, it needs to breathe, it needs light and flow, and it all works together to keep us safe and healthy inside.
When you’re little, you learn how to see things that aren’t there. And when you grow up, you learn how to make them real.
I was all the things, all the familiar things. I was stressed and excited and content and motivated and concerned and exhausted and annoyed. And grounded and nervous and creative and proud and all of the things. But all those colors, they’re all gone now, Hugh. And there’s only one left. I’m scared. That’s all I am. There’s nothing else. I’m only scared.