Aren't we all supposed to die to flesh? We're all supposed to be dead. So the spirit lived. This was a very bent thing to say. What is wrong with me? A huff aloud. My house is strangely dark, save for the fiery light from the sun that burnishes my brown leather couch. It slips in from the kitchen window, and when I go there, the outside sky is a blend of hot pinks and calm yellows. Ben is dead. I text back