I love how compassionate you are towards the story, whoever’s narrative it might be. I’m often not (bc fuck a lie), and then I have to be exceedingly analytical to see if maybe I should be. It’s exhausting. And then there are times when I need the lie. Because that fish isn’t going to make it and I can’t carry my choice in the matter, you know? Your compassion is graceful and admirable.
I thought losses were such beautifully (painfully) juxtaposed griefs here, too, under the story. Like the little losses fly in vivid sudden colors and suddenly the story that got told over bigger losses made all the burden both real and distant and immovable. Just an epic landscape for how you processed that moment.
*side note: ‘losses' no longer looks like a word. Halp.