Hannah is gone. All that is left of her is a deeply sad, scarred place. I hear and see things that I want to to share with her, that I remember she liked, and there's no her. The fiction that I gave myself when she first died (that word hurts), half hearted even at the time, that if I talked with her she could hear me, that she would try to reach out to me somehow, in the glow of lights on the wall, that is faded and hopeless now.
