Edie May Hand

“She did her best to feel another way about things, but couldn’t shake the shroud of indifference that sat comfortably across her shoulders. Like a winter quilt, patchwork, each square lovingly sewn with sorrow at its seams. She wrapped herself in its embrace, allowed the knowledge of having been loved so tenderly for such a short time settle her spirit. But the loneliness never left her; it grew like weeds when she wasn’t looking.”
― Edie May Hand, Dirtpickers