when funny people die it hurts in a different way as if death can’t be happening to a laughing face, or the memory of a smile. and its a bitter taste this knot in your throat is the knowing of dying things.
It seemed like this day could go in so many directions, like a spiderweb shooting out toward endless possibilities. Whenever you made a choice, especially one you’d been resisting, it always affected everything else, some in big ways, like a tremor beneath your feet, others in so tiny a shift you hardly noticed a change at all. But it was happening.