I know it’s time to make progress on them. But it’s hard to dream now. It’s hard to have hope. It’s hard to believe that anything good is meant for me. Because every time I’ve started to feel positive about the future, another thing was taken from me.
I don’t talk about this often.
And to be very honest, I haven’t spent much time hurting over it either.
Sometimes I’ve wondered if something is wrong with me.
How can it be that two of my siblings died, and I rarely shed a tear for them?