Oliver

I am uncomfortably, acutely aware of my own mortality. If existential questioning is my main reaction to death then I suppose it could be worse.

That said, it could have been much worse anyway. We hadn't talked for about six months prior to his illness. We had no reason to. I stopped getting on the same bus as him, left the school he was at, and these things happen. To everyone. I regret that we didn't stay in touch, and I feel guilt at not having been more proactive. Other than guilt - and it feels awful to admit it - with regard to the pointless, pointless death of a seventeen year old with everything to live for and everything to achieve, I'm just... numb. There's an uncomfortable knot of ambiguous feeling in my stomach. I don't know how I'm supposed to feel, I certainly don't know what I am feeling, and I'm willing to bet that I'm not feeling what I'm supposed to.

If I sound cold and impersonal it's because I don't know how else to be.