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He forgave himself for being jaded. At eighteen years old, he'd seen more people die than he could comfortably count. Death was unpleasant, but it was a familiar and tolerable ache in his chest.
“You go to work the next day pretending nothing happened.
Your co-workers ask
if everything's okay and you tell them
you're just tired.
And you're trying to smile. And they're trying to smile.”
―
Your co-workers ask
if everything's okay and you tell them
you're just tired.
And you're trying to smile. And they're trying to smile.”
―
Oliver’s 2025 Year in Books
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