“when you died, the spark of your life flew into me when I watched your breath stop, and the spark did its last energy frizz inside of me and I didn't tell anyone but half of the lights of myself went off as well. Almost every door in me closed too. Most of the space, where you used to tread, to rest, to read, to sleep, most of that space closed up for good. I became a house with only the porch light on.”
Book:Little Weirds
