32

32 lives cut short32 stories that didn't end happily ever after
32 victims of evil's cold cohort
32 families suffering loss
of sons and daughters
moms and dads
lovers and friends
32 more—fucked up tragic ends
32 undying inspirations to those of us who take so much for granted
32 lights forever extinguished
but never forgotten
32 reminders that ignorance and hate begets
ignorance and hate
32 reminders to live life with no regrets
to live it fully, happily and drama fucking free
32 reminders to love, live
to exist—to simply be
32 of them; like me
like you, like her, and him
32 reasons for me to call my mom and pops
just to say "I love you"
32 fleeting memories made timeless
32 goodbyes left unsaid
32 people, 170 bullets, 1 messed-up kid
was all it took for me to regain perspective
So what's worse?
That it even happened?
Or that it takes
32—gone—to remind me that life isn't so bad?