I clicked open the four attachments. His handwriting was messy, slanting across the page,
the size of the letters varying, the color of the pen changing.
He’d written it over many days in varying degrees of consciousness.
Van Houten, I’m a good person but a shitty writer. You’re a shitty person but a good writer.
We’d make a good team.
I don’t want to ask you any favors, but if you have time—and from what I saw, you have plenty—
I was wondering if you could write a eulogy for Hazel.
I’ve got notes and everything, but if you could just make it into a coherent whole or whatever?
Or even just tell me what I should say differently.
Here’s the thing about Hazel: Almost everyone is obsessed with leaving a mark upon the world.
Bequeathing a legacy. Outlasting death. We all want to be remembered. I do, too.
That’s what bothers me most, is being another unremembered casualty
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