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“She thought about their time at Bridge Builders Hospice: how people passed through those bedrooms like ghosts on wrecked rowboats, incapable of redirecting course from the approaching cliff. She had witnessed it many times: the moment dying became a letting, and the currents plunged their patients, headfirst, into waterfalls so misty it was like sailing through cloud. Resist it nor not, it made no difference.” — jarred thompson
She thought about their time at Bridge Builders Hospice: how people passed through those bedrooms like ghosts on wrecked rowboats, incapable of redirecting course from the approaching cliff. She had witnessed it many times: the moment dying became a letting, and the currents plunged their patients, headfirst, into waterfalls so misty it was like sailing through cloud. Resist it nor not, it made no difference.