“I imagine these drops of rain hitting the scales of the sandstone fish I carved for Vick. Every drop helps the poisoned stream, I think, holding my hands out open wide. Not catching the drops or trying to hold them. I'm letting them leave their mark and then letting them go. Let go. Of my parents, and the pain of what happened to them. Of what I failed to do. Of all the people I failed to save or bury. Of my jealously of Xander. Of my guilt over what happened to Vick. Of worrying about what I can never be and who I never was in the first place. Let go of it all.”
Book:Crossed
