Today makes it eleven years since I didn't bother to wake up early to say goodbye to my friends because I'd seen them the night before anyway, and we had cell phones now, so I'd call when I got home. I didn't realise then, that I'd never see Zikora and Toke again. If I had, I'd have made them stay, not get on that flight, come home with me instead. But life doesn't work that way. You don't know what's coming until it's come already. In the time since then, I've lost so many people to death, and the shock I felt at sixteen, overwhelmed by this presence of death has faded. I'm used to it now, and I don't know whether that's a good thing or a bad thing; constantly feeling like we could die at any moment. Constantly waiting for the world to end. I miss everyone who's gone. I can admit, I don't understand this world. We tell ourselves we'll see them again after we die, but who knows if that's really true. If it is, I hope I see you again someday.
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