Dear —,

How stupidly precious it had all become.

I hate holding onto fragile things. Delicate things were never meant for hands like mine, and in the span of a breath, I watched it all fracture, splintering into jagged edges that cut deep before I even thought to let go.

One step at a time. One after the other. Steady rhythm. Soft taps of rubber on asphalt. Listen to that only, not the silence where another voice used to be.

Keep moving or the horror will eat your heart. Not now. On...