Yet I can’t bring myself to derail from her nor can I reject what I feel in the most primitive parts of me: hope. Because that’s what I feel with her, hope that the world can get better. Hope that a normal life can exist someday.

This is a cemetery of memories and I'm grave robbing.

He's the navigator, he could probably find you a route to Hawaii underwater.

Pfft, aren’t you optimistic,” my mouth twists into an ugly grimace as I clench my fists. My throat dries from the rushed breathing as my vision blurs, tears drying, my blood pounds in my ears. “Thinking as if this shit storm will ever blow over. Everyone’s got their scars and stories. This is yours.”Though I’ll always be haunted, memories always resurface.