I turned to look into his face one last time. It was as if I could see the whole universe in his eyes. Maybe he was God, maybe he was simply enlightened. I didn't care right then, in that blessed moment, I just loved him. Later, though, the love was to turn to hate, to fear. They seemed so opposite, the feelings, yet they were all one note on his flute.

It doesn't matter. You are what you are. I am what I am. We are the same-when you take the time to remember me.

We all die. It's just a question of when and how horrible it's going to be.

Death never comes at the right time, despite what mortals believe. Death always comes like a thief.

All ends are temporary and all life is born from death.

They are all I have left—the stars and the memory of the many times I wished upon them. But with all those wishes, I asked for only one thing. To see him again. But I will not see him again. I do not see him now.

But I wasn't a bad girl. I don't want to be forgotten. I want people to remember me.