And I knew it was always easier for the ones that were dying. Somehow it was. I always felt that the ones that were left behind were the ones that should be mourned. Every one of us carried pieces of other people inside our chest. Our love for them could make us and also break us, but it was undeniable that it often made us who we were. And because of that, when a person leaves this world, that piece we carried for so long would become like a thorn in our side, reminding us of what we’ve lost.
