#24
- Reads 16
- Votes 2
- Parts 2
I built walls. Death, grief, loss, it was all known to me from the year I was born. I didn't want to feel the same way over and over again, so I trained myself not to. And as a result, I was different from everybody. My life looked normal. Two loving parents, a little adorable dog, middle class house in a middle class town, invisible almost everywhere but not where it counted. Life was death to me. Everday I thought about it, at least once every two years it visited me. 24 was my magic number. 24 was the death number. And my 24th birthday was just around the corner.
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