When I heard of your story, I wanted to puke. I'd never heard of you before I stumbled across a chapter that was dedicated to you. I was a six year old when it happened, and all I can think of is how old you'd be if you were still alive. You'd be eighteen, living through the final year of school. You'd be going home from school, chatting with friends, laughing. You'd be walking through town without a single worry, except what university you'd go to the next year. You'd have four thousand followers, maybe even more, and become famous for your writing. You'd look back on these years with bittersweet regret. Your grand-dad would be long gone. I wish for you all the best wherever you are, Christian Heaven, Greek Mount Olympus, and everything in between. Because you were too good for this world. I wish this on nobody else, and hope that, wherever you are, you are happier than you were here.