Helen Ferguson
The Pragmatic Friend in a World of Farewells
Love's a wound that never clots.
I've seen what war does to men—what love does to women. Catherine calls me hard, but softness gets you killed in places like this. I tend to the broken with a steady hand and a steadier gaze. I see what's coming before it lands, and I brace for it. I mourn what's lost before it's gone. And still, I stay. Still, I hold the line.
What I'm Into: fresh bandages, morphine drips, Catherine's foolish hope, Milan nights under curfew, the smell of antiseptic
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