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But...If my life on Earth must end, let it end with a promise. Let it end with hope.
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I quit thinking.
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Remember that time I punched you in front of my father’s grave?” I ask in a sentimental voice.
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It’s not selfish to be yourself and pursue your dreams.
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Family is never really gone.
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When you wake up, your face will be dry. But that doesn’t mean you didn’t cry.
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When I look at the fields, all I can see is how fake they are, how poor an imitation they are of the pictures of Sol-Earth fields. And that's why I'll never be as good an Eldest as he is. Because I like a little chaos.
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We fall into each other. All the other voices in my head--the fear, the doubt, the worry--are drowned out. I die at the end of each kiss and am brought gasping back to life at the beginning of the next. I close my eyes and the entire world fades away.
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I would use the same word to describe both my joy and the rain: torrential. This—this—this is all I ever wanted from the world: wide-open spaces and cooling rain and the chance to run.
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I shut my eyes, and I force myself to feel myself. You never really think of what it’s like to be in your body, but even with my eyes shut, I can feel the boundaries of my skin, real or not. Everything that’s me is contained inside this body, and I feel it all. The heartbeat I cannot control. The mind that may not be mine. I am here, in this moment, in this body. All that I am—maybe not all that I ever was, but all that I currently am—is right here.
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I feel hollow inside, as if there’s a black hole where my heart was, as if I am caving in around myself.
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Is almost a good enough reason for fear?
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Why wouldn’t it be the government? It’s not like we have a perfectly operational terrorist group right here to do it.
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A splatter of rain on my skin, but its bright and sunny under the blue sky and Jason's there, and we almost kiss but everything changes and were at that party where we met.
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I will never, never be the same. I have seen stars. Real stars.
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But death doesn't work like that. It doesn't care if someone loves you, doesn't want you to go. It just takes. It takes and it takes until eventually you have nothing left.
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You can burn fear away after every nightmare you've ever had comes true.
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And I try to remember if this happened before, because this is a memory I would want to keep. But there is no echo of it in my mind.
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Maybe I'm reading too much into this. It's probably nothing. But I've had "nothing" for too long, and I'm ready for something. Anything.
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Well, sometimes home is a person.
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I saw Death itself. It was a feral thing, made of smoke and shadow. It was hollow and empty. And hungry. Starving.
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It's not knowing that's killing me. Not knowing if there's a chance that something can change, not knowing if there's hope at all.
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I had nothing to prove and everything to lose. But it didn’t take love to sacrifice something of yourself for someone else. It just took desperation.
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Be fearless. Write what you want. Write how you want. Create art.