She was a gem.
I don’t think she knew it, but she was. She was so good. Nothing objectively great, but she was good. Intuitive, she took to it pretty naturally, and curious, which certainly helped.
I’ve been rereading her work. I’d been kinda thinking back, like, how delusional to let her meet with that publishing lady. How cocky. But then I reread her work, and I get it. As an adult now, I see that the kid had something going on.
I remember, I took this like, life-writing class many years ago, and one of our final assignments was to write our own obituary, which triggered me. I can’t remember if I even ended up writing it.
But I have been writing her obituary. All these years. That’s way too long to spend writing an obit. The body’s only good for so long. And I’ve been writing it and writing it and mourning her the whole time. And I can’t tell if the long, drawn-out grief has now made me delusional.
Because I’ve been thinking, what if she’s not actually dead? I know, I know, I’m just delusionally hopeful, overly attached to her from spending so long writing her obituary. But what if?
I mean, never finished the obituary. And without the obituary, who’s gonna know when the funeral is? Haven’t had the funeral. Where is the body? I haven’t seen her. I know she’s not in the ground yet.
So, what if something else happened? What if she survived? Then what? Do you think she’ll ever go back to it? I hope she would.
I hope she does.
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