I can't say that my situation falls exactly in line with her own. I mean, I think I understand what she's saying. I think I get it. I'm fortunate enough to have the unconditional love of about half a dozen people, and probably uncompromising love from dozens more now that I am who I am, so it's never really been about me and one other person. Still, I think I get it. How it's easier to hang yourself on the welfare of those closest to you. The more people you let in, the more of a burden it becomes. You're not used to it, caring. You're not sure what to do when caring isn't enough.

I don't know if it's the stuffed animals that made her think of this, but maybe I get it. Kinda.

Maybe that justifies the impulse I have to reply.


"Because things were so dangerous. Because another person in the group meant another few seconds that you couldn't focus on everyone else, and in that kind of situation, I guess that ends up being make or break," Mark muses, a somber tone to his voice, and the slight edge of disbelief that comes every single time Mark tries to remember the desolation that Wichita came from. The type of city that he can't even see in the dustiest corners of his mind, reserved for wild stories and adventures written on the leaves of a book. "Even when it isn't really do or die, though, I get it. Caring for people is. Tiring. But then again, you seem pretty made for it."

Pausing, he adds, "Or maybe I'm biased. Three sisters."