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“Sad truth is. . . we all end up alone on some death bed. Yeah? No way to take anybody else's place and no way we can be lying on the same one.” I was at the edge of the white-wed cloth. My shoes filled with concrete, as did my head, looking at the empty shell of what was once a woman full of wonder. “Any way to make someone feel not so alone?” she asked. “The only thing anyone can ever do is help someone feel a little less lonely before they get there.” “How does someone do that?” “Memories. Help create memories. Better ones. Ones to replace the old.” — S.D. Lawendowski
Sad truth is. . . we all end up alone on some death bed. Yeah? No way to take anybody else's place and no way we can be lying on the same one.”
I was at the edge of the white-wed cloth. My shoes filled with concrete, as did my head, looking at the empty shell of what was once a woman full of wonder.
“Any way to make someone feel not so alone?” she asked.
“The only thing anyone can ever do is help someone feel a little less lonely before they get there.”
“How does someone do that?”
“Memories. Help create memories. Better ones. Ones to replace the old.