She loved him, but he didn't seem to care. Her heart was his, and it always would be, but he never seemed to feel the same. Never did he take the time to look on the inside and see her light. How she wished he did.


The begining to one of her amazing stories reached him through her best friend the day after she died. What did it mean? He never would know, as she was no longer there to tell him petty little things.

"She committed suicide last night." her friend told him, tears in her eyes, "She would have wanted you to have this, she wrote it for you... about you."

He knew nothing of her death. "Why did she?" he asked, knowing that he might cry as well.

"Because you never could love her." with that, she walked away, leaving him with the beginning of that story... The story of her life, put into four careless lines, and stored away. Wating for the day that he would read it, the day she died.

**********************************************************************************AN: I wrote this to make people see that we could die anyday now, whether purposeful, accidental, or intionially, so get to know people that you would want to be at your funeral.