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February 11, 2011
Dear you,

When I burn through a candle, and after the wick gives its last stuttering spark and goes out with a gasp of smoke, I put my finger to the still glowing fiber and let it burn me. The death of something should be remembered. It should hurt.

Love and life and death? They're the same thing sometimes. They hurt. They hurt, and they leave us gasping for air and wishing for something to take the pain away. But sometimes, it's ok to hurt.

I suppose, in some warped fashion, I am trying to say I love you.