I was waiting for the longest time, she said. I thought you forgot. It is hard to forget, I said, when there is such an empty space when you are gone.
A SMALL PIECE OF TRUTH I do not carry a sickle or scythe. I only wear a hooded black robe when it's cold. And I don't have those skull-like facial features you seem to enjoy pinning on me from a distance. You want to know what I truly look like? I'll help you out. Find yourself a mirror while I continue.
Surely it was a good way to die, in the place of someone else, someone I loved.
Dying is overrated. Human sentimentality has twisted it into the ultimate act of love. Biggest load of bullshit in the world. Dying for someone isn't the hard thing. The man that dies escapes. Plain and simple. Game over. End of pain...Try living for someone. Through it all-good, bad, thick, thin, joy, suffering. That's the hard thing.
My heart has joined the Thousand, for my friend stopped running today.
People die, I think, but your relationship with them doesn't. It continues and is ever-changing.
After all, what's a life, anyway? We're born, we live a little while, we die.
I felt the unfairness of it, the inarguable injustice of loving someone who might have loved you back but can't due to deadness.
In time, in time they tell me, I'll not feel so bad. I don't want time to heal me. There's a reason I'm like this. I want time to set me ugly and knotted with loss of you, marking me. I won't smooth you away. I can't say goodbye.
It's better to die laughing than to live each moment in fear.
People rarely bring flowers to a suicide.
He was my North, my South, my East and West, My working week and my Sunday rest, My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song; I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.
Death leaves a heartache no one can heal, love leaves a memory no one can steal. From an Irish headstone
Carve your name on hearts, not tombstones. A legacy is etched into the minds of others and the stories they share about you.
When we die, we will turn into songs, and we will hear each other and remember each other.
Stars, she whispered. I can see the stars again, my lady. A tear trickled down Artemis's cheek. Yes, my brave one. They are beautiful tonight. Stars, Zoe repeated. Her eyes fixed on the night sky. And she did not move again.
There is no escape—we pay for the violence of our ancestors.
No one here gets out alive.
I went down to the river, I set down on the bank. I tried to think but couldn't, So I jumped in and sank.
It's true, I am afraid of dying. I am afraid of the world moving forward without me, of my absence going unnoticed, or worse, being some natural force propelling life on. Is it selfish? Am I such a bad person for dreaming of a world that ends when I do? I don't mean the world ending with respect to me, but every set of eyes closing with mine.