The microphone is lowered,
level with my dry, frightened eyes.
I fight the tightness in my throat and
begin to speak.



“She was passionate about music
More than anything else.”











(We made fun of how many band shirts she had. One for each day of the year, at least.)


“If we happened to be watching a
boring movie in class,
She would make it more exciting.”












(We would draw cartoons of the teacher, or write











notes about people who didn’t quite understand us.)


“She always made friends
really easily.”












(We were loners, confined to our group of friends. We didn’t need anyone – especially not “them”.)


“She wasn’t afraid to
stand up for herself.”

(Except when I saw those few tears fall when “they” saw her and laughed - I could have killed them.)


“She was always
really brave as well.”








(Except when everything was dark and quiet and she told me how scared she was to die.)


“Taylor was a beautiful individual
And will be forever remembered.”

(I think about her every day, and what I never said. And how when I went to visit her, she wouldn’t let










go.)