Katie Hale

Katie Hale

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I think about all the people I ever knew. Every day I remember someone else, as if they’re all buried inside me like books in a library, just waiting for my brain to pick one out. It’s shocking how many people you encounter in a lifetime.
I think about what a town might mean – like the village but bigger, an unbearable cavity, cluttered with all the paraphernalia of what my mother might have called ‘normal people’: people who followed the rules, who had families and a community, who stuck so hard to their so-called loved ones they eventually let it kill them.
In the War and in the Sickness that followed, so many people depended too much on those they cared about. But survival has a cost. It has always had a cost, and the cost is being alone, cutting out friends and family like a cancerous growth and sealing the wound behind them. And if you pay the greatest price, you get to survive the longest
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