He wouldn't have been able to play violin again anyway if he had made it out of that coma, most likely.
It's like something out of a shady film. And the world keeps going, even though I want desperately for it to stop for one second. He was my age. MY AGE. A fifth year senior, just months away from graduation. A guy with a passion for Russian music who wouldn't speak to anyone. He was shady, but still a person.
I don't understand the grief I'm feeling. I saw him every day and we never said a word to each other. And he's gone from this planet, never to play again. It hit people hard, they take a moment, and move on.
I can't shake the feeling that I'm supposed to obtain a divine lesson from all this. I just can't figure out what it is. I think it must be deeper than "live life to its fullest and cherish what you have." While it is always important to remember that, there's something else here that just seems to be bugging me a little bit more.
I don't understand. But I will. I think, in a weird way, I owe it to him.
I can't believe he's gone. A life ended so soon.