My father killed himself when I was 12, the last words he ever said to me were "no happy endings, Avy". He used my name, he didn't call me flower or angel like he used to do and maybe I should have known it was a sign that things would never be the same again.
When the world would come too close we would get into his car and drive all night past glowing forrests and endless fields, and the smell of gasoline and charcoal would make me feel safe and protected. Now they just remind me of the times that passed and how everything eventually comes to an end no matter how hard we try and wish that it wouldn't. I dream about it constantly and when I wake up I try to forget that once it was a reality.
(The full story here)