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June, otter


Write the Thing

I need to write more...

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June, otter
 I got on to my computer almost two hours ago to write for the night, before I would read and go to bed. I logged on to Facebook to check on something for a friend and send another a link before I forgot, and as I started posting, I noticed a post from my uncle. I usually try to read his posts, as I rather like my uncle, but this one shattered me a little.

He wrote about a woman that he met by mistake on a friend sharing website. He had talked to her for months, over a year, and she lived so close by him, in France while he was in Germany. My uncle fell in love with this woman, and when he talked about her this Summer when we went to visit, you could hear it in his voice alone, just how much he loved her. He wrote in this post about how much he wanted to introduce her to our family as his girl friend, or maybe as his wife. This post was an obituary, telling about how her life ended in route to the hospital.

I don't know all of the particulars, but I believe it was cancer, I know she fought it and that when she met my uncle she was in remission. But just a few months ago remission faded into dust nothign more than less than hope.

This is a woman who I did not know. But this is the woman who reignited some of the passion and the soul into my uncle's voice, something he lost after his divorce. This was a woman who I was ready to call my aunt and to love with all my heart. I wanted to meet her and hug her and help teach her how to speak English.

Before now, not many young people in my life have died of "natural causes." I guess cancer isn't natural, but it was something that happened inside of her own body. The only people I knew that had happened to were old, had lived for so long, that it almost seemed worthy that these things should happen. But not to her, not for life to so extiguish, in a way so heartwrenching...I just can't even think of how to describe it.

Since I saw that post two hours ago, I've been trying to sit and think, and farting about the internet eating some pop tarts. And then I started trying to write. I played the new Within Temptation album, which seemed to inspire me the past few nights, and just tried to write about a Superwoman, but nothings seemed to quite flow like it was supposed to, everything felt interrupted by a destraction or thought about death. "I hoped to introduce her as my wife," my uncle said. And that keeps playing over and over in my head like, "I can't live in a fairy tale of lies. And I can't fight this feeling 'cause it's right."

So I refuse to fight this sadness, and this pain building inside my cheast, for a a woman who did not know but who I love like the way you love people sometimes, and you just can't explain it.

She's the reason I can't write about a superwoman right now. She's the reason I'm crying tears and snot, and I just...I just need to let it flow. I need to be sad right now, I need to feel her heart here, beating in spirit with mine. I need to just be in this moment a little while longer. I need to not hold back the tears. And I don't want to.

I don't know if I will finish the story about Atalanta, the superwoman. But now I really want to, so that when the front cover opens up, her name can be there, as a woman who fought for her right to live, against the very forces of nature.

Elise, this is for you.

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