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Lovely Sort of Death
You were only seventeen. I don't know how you managed to be so perfect, but I also don't understand where everything went wrong. I remember how you would sing in that beautiful voice even when I acted like I didn't want you to. I remember how you would always leave your report card faced down even though there was nothing to be ashamed of. I remember how you were so amazing that you just weren't good enough for anyone.
You were also a dreamer, that was my favorite part. The cure for cancer was probably somewhere in your grasp, but no. You always told me that the only job you could ever handle would simply be existing, breathing, and fantasizing about a different reality than the one you had. I envied you so much, if I had the life you had I would have come up with the solution for world peace most likely. I don't know why you were unhappy. You had me right here, I have always been right here, but you never said a word.
I feel a bit betrayed. I shouldn't, because you couldn't help it, but you were dying and I never even knew. Maybe I missed a clue, maybe it's because I don't know as much as you, or maybe I'm just stupid; I never knew. You're gone and you never told me you were leaving.
I hope when you left, you were dreaming. That's all I can handle anymore. Fantasizing about a different reality than the one you left me with. I'm sorry for all this anger, I just loved you. I loved you so much and I'll never know if you even dreamed about me. I'm dreaming about you, always, and I think I'm dying too.
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Favorite Quote:
"To crave for happiness in this world is simply to be possessed by a spirit of revolt." - Henrik Ibsen