The words are out of her mouth before she thinks to stop them, tumbling out when she knows she shouldn't.
"People never think of you the way you want when you die. They just make you into what they wanted you to be, turn you into a symbol. The second your heart stops it's like you don't exist anymore. You're just a myth, and it's never the one you would've wanted."
The eulogies they'd written for her dad that had almost nothing to do with the man he'd been. The letters left for her by kids at school, kids she hadn't even known but had been so keen to make gestures, to seize on grief and feel a part of it that they hadn't even waited for her to turn up dead.
no subject
The words are out of her mouth before she thinks to stop them, tumbling out when she knows she shouldn't.
"People never think of you the way you want when you die. They just make you into what they wanted you to be, turn you into a symbol. The second your heart stops it's like you don't exist anymore. You're just a myth, and it's never the one you would've wanted."
The eulogies they'd written for her dad that had almost nothing to do with the man he'd been. The letters left for her by kids at school, kids she hadn't even known but had been so keen to make gestures, to seize on grief and feel a part of it that they hadn't even waited for her to turn up dead.