Some days I think about how Nina's death has forever changed me, and I feel ok about that. I feel like there is something beautiful about that thread that weaves through and marks everything with its color.
Other days, like today, I think it's fucking bullshit, and that there is nothing beautiful or poetic about tragedy. It's awful, and I would do anything to hide this ugly hole it has left in me. I would like to hide behind a veil forever, change my name and my past and erase this meaningless, fucked up horror that I carry with me everywhere.
Some days I'm terrified by the notion that I'm always going to be a person whose baby died.
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