I don’t know you,
but I’ve read your diary.
I picked it up
at eleven years old–
four years younger
than you.
I don’t know you,
not really.
I know about you,
your likes and dislikes,
your family and friends,
the place you lived,
your words,
but a person is more.
You left this world
long before I came to it
with millions of others
killed by hate,
just like you.
I sat in an empty classroom
devouring the words you left.
Abruptly,
the words ran out.
I don’t know you,
but I’ve mourned you.
I’m older than you now
filled more diaries
than you ever will.
I’m still as confused
by your loss
as I was then.
The world should be better
should be kinder.
I don’t know you,
but I know this:
You should have lived.
She’s one of my heroes too. The world is a hard place but it is filled with more good than bad. Look for the good. It’s here.
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