And after a few minutes of trying to breathe underwater, all of a sudden it’s like I can draw in a breath for the first time when my thoughts line up together. “So this is part of it too, right? She’s really alive. The bombing wasn’t real either?” Even I find the hope lacing the incredulity in my tone pathetic, but I am holding on to threads here, and when that’s all you have, you don’t care how bad they cut you as your grip slips so long as you’re still holding them.

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