When life slips down the hill, Katie and I often turn to each other and ask each other the same question: What is the point? With our feet slipping, trying to stop everything from falling, our arms aching and our bodies covered in mud, we scream WHAT IS THE POINT IN TRYING SO HARD?
My name is Evee. Not Evie or Eve, and in fact I dislike both of those names quite strongly.
I felt closer to him reading these than I have since he was killed—as he wrote in one of them, “Some words are worth a thousand pictures.”
What alarmed me most was the vacantness in her eyes as if being present was too much to bear.
I thought I knew grief but this was different.