A grudge gives you someone to blame.

A wound just hurts.

For seven months I had chosen the grudge, because the grudge let me feel something other than the pure helpless ache of missing all three of them at once — the two who were gone, and the one who might as well have been.

I am not proud of it.

But I think, now, that it was the only way I knew to keep standing.

You lean on your anger when there is no shoulder in reach.