[He doesn't know how to feel about all that, mostly because he feels a whole lot at once. He could see himself having those same worries. Especially about dangerous things and people. He thinks, forevermore, he'll be wary of that.

Really, really horrible stuff that just happens sometimes, and no one can give you the answer you need to be okay. His eyes close at that. Another truth, for no one, not even God, had helped him there.

It feels like tearing several wounds before the balm is applied. Those last words are so sweet, even as they sting. He won't weep in front of a child. He won't.]

I'm not good at hugs anymore. I feel out of control, less me, like my skin is crawling. But part of me still wants to. When my friend says things like that, I want to hug them, but I'm afraid of how afraid I will seem.