Monday, August 3, 2009

Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes.

What becomes of someone-

after you forget them? Are they a memory? a ghost? or are they just the body they vacated, laying six feet below the earth, slowly turning into nothing. What happens to the memory of that person when you can't remember the last time you saw them alive? Everyone else shares the same last vivid memory, but you- you've got nothing. All you have left is a blurry recollection of a chance encounter- you're not even sure if that really happened or if you just wish it did. You will never have closure, at least not internally for the sole reason you can't recall the last time you cared about that person until you found out they were dead. And sure, the funeral was hard for you but compared to the kids around you, you felt down right fake. They all have their last memory, their final words, their closure. But you- you sit there with tears rolling down your face and you feel absolutely appalled with yourself. Not to say you didn't care, you care very much. But your tears seem forged compared to those around you. Now imagine a year passing. Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes of your life has passed and here you are, on the anniversary of the most untimely death you've ever had to encounter. And it's painful- you still lack the closure you want...the knowledge of the date put a hole in your chest that had not been there for a long time. You want this person to know you care about them as much as you did the day you met them- but you're too poor for flowers. You have no knowledge of where they're buried. And then comes that feeling of becoming absolutely appalled with yourself for failing them as a friend.
Happy anniversary guys.
I love you all, and I know we all miss her.

The moral of this story: nobody put it better than Kaytee when she said: "I noticed how beautiful the sky was today and I realized it's because you're up there."

Until next time, stay classy kids.

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