(no subject)
Oh.
I was vaguely wandering around livejournal in the way that, after a long absence, you might wander around the house that you grew up in. Picking up old photos, spending time looking intently at things that were so banal as to be invisible to you back then, feeling ghosts of emotions, smiling, remembering the person who you were back then.
Then I got kicked in the guts by stumbling across the journal of a friend who died last month. We'd fallen slightly out of touch; we were Facebook-friends, commenting briefly on each other's photos and "liking" each other's status updates. But we were school friends, old friends, friends for the past fifteen years. Now she's dead, and I wandered back through her journal, and I cried and cried and cried.
I was vaguely wandering around livejournal in the way that, after a long absence, you might wander around the house that you grew up in. Picking up old photos, spending time looking intently at things that were so banal as to be invisible to you back then, feeling ghosts of emotions, smiling, remembering the person who you were back then.
Then I got kicked in the guts by stumbling across the journal of a friend who died last month. We'd fallen slightly out of touch; we were Facebook-friends, commenting briefly on each other's photos and "liking" each other's status updates. But we were school friends, old friends, friends for the past fifteen years. Now she's dead, and I wandered back through her journal, and I cried and cried and cried.