It's my fault that Alaska died.
I know this isn't true, but it doesn't stop me from thinking it. I can what if all day for the rest of my life, but it won't change the outcome. Part of my grief is feeling this, too. I'm not dwelling on it, but this is real. To ignore these thoughts would be to bury them.
It's my fault that Alaska died.
No. No, it's not. It's because of me that she lived.
But she died in my body, so I own that, too.
It's my fault that Alaska died.
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