blind
He leaned over, put his hand on her shoulder.
"It's not that bad," he said quietly. Less of a mutter, though certainly not a murmur.
Dean just wanted to support her. He wanted to have her believe that he could make things better. Instead, she turned away.
"She's gone, Dean, gone. You can't provide solace for that. Yvonne walked out, you can't take her place."
People say life is a journey, and everyone's en route, but
I think it's bullshit. Be where you want to be. Fuck roads. Life is
a bunch of still frames, paintings, it's not a road, that's stupid
as hell. Roads don't let you pay attention to what's around. You
can't explore roads. But paintings, you can stare and stare, go
over every detail until you've memorized it. That's what my
memories are like. Not a goddamn road.