I'm writing in my head again. I write there a lot feels like. The editing process is easier. Getting it to paper—not so much.
I'm writing about being out of people. A person I don't know, but know, but have never met, whose father I knew, but didn't know and had never met—she's recently found herself all out of people.
And that's the silver lining.
And I wonder if my own daughter, who started burying her people before you're "supposed to" will be out of people when she's still so young. And will a person she's never met be moved to wonder what it's like to be out of people.
The tears don't stop this morning. They started and won't quit. Out of people. In a city filled with so many you feel them suck your air and eat your soul. No more people.
That's her silver lining.