Rachael Lippincott

Poe pushed everyone away so he wouldn’t hurt them, but it didn’t make a bit of difference. Michael is still sitting on his bed, crushed, the weeks they could have had together spiraling through his head. Whether I die now or ten years from now, my parents will be crushed. And all I’ll have done is make myself miserable focusing on a few extra breaths.

I laugh, making a snow angel too, my whole body cold from the snow, but warm from the moment.

But I look across the pond at Will again, the boy I love, who has B. cepacia and will never get the opportunity in front of me.