Pain Never Gets Old

I wasn't going to write a post today. Probably because I didn't want to interrupt the language discussion going on in the post below. Right now that particular post is distracting me from all the feelings I'd rather avoid today. Yesterday morning I was going through my inbox and I found a really old email... from my friend Zikora. He sent it in August 2005, just before we were supposed to come back to Loyola to start SS3 first term. The term that at the end of which, he died. There wasn't anything particularly profound about the email (I'll post it here later on). It's just that that email is one of the few scraps I have holding his memory together. Death is such an unreal thing. I know we're all constantly aware of it, but it still feels unreal. It feels so weird. Like how can he be laughing, talking, and looking at me one minute and then be disconnected from his body and this world the next? I'm still confused.

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