Elsa Paulson

I shot the signals of my mourning into space for months, fully expecting them to die unreceived. And when I least expected it, someone sent signals back that said, ‘You are not the last living witness to the relationship you had with your father.’

Sometimes your best friend dies, and four years later, you make a graphic novel about everything that got left behind. About grief and anger, watching Ghost a thousand times over, drinking beer until you cry, and running across the streets without looking. About meeting a soulmate when you’re 16 just to lose her nine years later. About being left alone with your histories and memories.

I don’t want to be the last witness. Love you forever, Lussan. This is for you.