Paulo Coelho, The Witch of Portobello (via observando)
Guilty. As illogical as it is, that is how I would describe this feeling: guilty. Guilty and stunned. I was not there when a rogue angel tore you from a life you’d only just begun. As they carried you through that too-dark night into the heavens 1000 hearts shattered. Mine should not be among them. Mine has no right to be among them. And yet, it is.
I feel guilty because I have only one memory with you. One memory more than I deserve, but one memory all the same. You were laughing at the absurdity of my coworker’s beard. You’d never met him before, but for someone as outgoing and light-hearted as you that was never a problem. As you two joked I listened, intimidated by your ease and grace, caught up in your wit. There were so many things I could have said - things like “I love that shirt,” “How’s your sister,” “You were incredible in the Nutcracker” - but I didn’t. Instead I stood there laughing along and trying to absorb some of the kindness and exuberance that emanated from your smile.
I feel guilty because so many people are hurt and lost and reaching for an answer that does not exist, and I am reaching along with them even as they have a 15 year head start. But if you’re looking down at us, watching an entire town struggle to find a way to be okay again, never feel guilty. Feel proud of the impact you made. Feel honored that you were able to spread so much warmth in so short a time. Feel blessed that your infinite talent made this school, town, and world a better placed. Feel all of this and more because you more than anyone deserve to.
Know that you were loved and know that you will be missed. Rest in peace