Patron Saints of Nothing

For the hyphenated

I was so close to feeling like I had Jun’s story nailed down. But no. That’s not how stories work, is it? They are shifting things that re-form with each new telling, transform with each new teller. Less a solid, and more a liquid taking the shape of its container.

“Maybe you haven’t developed a passion yet because you’ve spent your entire life doing what others wanted you to do.”

It’s a sad thing when you map the borders of a friendship and find it’s a narrower country than expected.

“No offense, cousin, but even though you are from here, you are also not. I know you want to help, but you have only recently learned about any of this. You are not going to be the one to save us.”

It’s weird to be this open with him, to not hold anything back. It’s like we’re characters in a cartoon who have continued to run over and past the edge of the cliff, defying the laws of physics. This is just not the kind of relationship we have, and I fear I’ll eventually say something wrong, and we’ll plummet. But I keep talking because I’m deter

We can only handle so much truth at any given moment,

It was like he used all his compassion on strangers and ran out by the time he came home.

“You want me to come with you?” he asks, like he doesn’t understand why I’m upset. And that’s a big part of the problem. He doesn’t. He can’t.