A boy had died. I hadn’t understood what that meant. I still didn’t understand. But I’d seen his friend’s face in the window, and now I wished more than anything else that I had gone inside the temple. I wanted to be brave enough to open those doors and mature enough to handle what was behind them. I wished I could share his grief, so that he didn’t have to carry so much of it. I wished I could be the kind of person who didn’t care about outfits and guest lists. I wished I hadn’t laughed like an asshole. I wished I wasn’t so self-absorbed, but instead was more compassionate, more comforting to
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