When she came to school on Friday, she almost tripped twice going up the stairs. A creeping numbness invaded her. To be near someone, even someone who made a pretense of friendliness, to hear voices, her own intermingling, would serve as a rehabilitating tonic. They stopped talking, except to each other. Ovarian cancer. “We were bound to do this when you kissed me,” she sobbed through her tears. It is she that I must see.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMTQyLjE5Ny4yMTIgLSAyNi0wNi0yMDI0IDA2OjA3OjIzIC0gMTIxMjA3OTg1Mg==
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