Someone once told me that death is so selfish. Because when someone dies, we don’t hurt for that person, we hurt for ourselves because they’re no longer a part of our lives.They can longer give us what they once gave us.
I keep trying to think of things to write to make this better. But for some reason I can’t. I feel selfish for trying use your death as an excuse to write something beautiful. Selfish for being here when you could’ve needed someone, and selfish for sitting here at 1 AM wanting all these answers when I know there’s a huge change I might never get them. And I think about all the things I might not ever get a chance to do now. Hear your voice again. Hold your hands that I always made fun of for being so little. Laugh at the same time as you. Roll over in the morning and see your face next to mine.
People say the way someone says goodbye says everything about them.
What if I don’t get the chance?
What if I didn’t know that you were even going to leave?
What does that say about me?
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