"More than a stunning debut. It is the announcement of a bold new literary voice"
—Stephen Chbosky, author of The Perks of Being a Wallflower

I really don’t know how to start this letter off other than sorry. I don’t really know why I’m sorry to be honest. I just, am. There really isn’t a heaven or a hell is there? It’s just some thing made up to protect us from the shadows that will haunt us if we figure out there really isn’t one. That, that right there, that really sucks. But we all believe in something that isn’t true at one point in our life don’t we? The explanation would take to long and the song, it would be a little to long. I chose you because the music you made is relatable. Most people just hear screaming, but us, the fandom, hear the meaning. It’s strange how people could hate a ton of music with meaning, when people listen to music that means nothing. It makes me think, what happened to society? But I just think that a lot, I think it because people today just don’t really pay attention to music. They don’t pay attention to the meaning, the lyrics, all people care about anymore is the beat… That hurts. A lot. I’ve realized many people that like music ... Read more

I really don’t know how to start this letter off other than sorry. I don’t really know why I’m sorry to be honest. I just, am. There really isn’t a heaven or a hell is there? It’s just some thing made up to protect us from the shadows that will haunt us if we figure out there really isn’t one. That, that right there, that really sucks. But we all believe in something that isn’t true at one point in our life don’t we? The explanation would take to long and the song, it would be a little to long. I chose you because the music you made is relatable. Most people just hear screaming, but us, the fandom, hear the meaning. It’s strange how people could hate a ton of music with meaning, when people listen to music that means nothing. It makes me think, what happened to society? But I just think that a lot, I think it because people today just don’t really pay attention to music. They don’t pay attention to the meaning, the lyrics, all people care about anymore is the beat… That hurts. A lot. I’ve realized many people that like music ... Read more

Growing up, I watched the movie Jumanji every time it came on It was one of my favorite movies, and you were the star of it. I loved you, I loved how amazing of an actor you were. You were the voice of Genie in Aladdin. You were Mrs. Doubtfire. I loved everything about you. When you died, I refused to believe. I didn’t want you to die You were special, you were amazing. Why did you die? Why? You left with too many questions, and not many answers. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.

The more I know things about you, the more I would like to know you. You are my inspiration. I would like to be, like you were. Sometimes I just feel lost and really sad, eventhough I realise that there is no reason to be unhappy. And then I think about you. How you were always so gentle and polite, nice to everyone who needed your help. I absolutely admire your big and brave heart. Nowadays I feel a bit empty and I’m really angry on myself. I just want to cry or run away, although I have absolutely amazing people around. And that makes me sad again. I would love if you could tell me your secret, tell me how to be brave, happy, successful a what is more important confident. I know this is impossible, so I will try and try to find out, how to be happy. But trust me, you still be the person who motivates me the most to try my best.

Olivia loved you. She loved you a lot. You were flawed and strange; quiet and different, a private person who loved to see and be seen. I found you fascinating, but it took her getting pulled out of this life for me to meet you. I’m sorry, but you weren’t worth it. I left you flowers when I was in England, signed them from her. I had to. I’ll never have more closure for her than that; and that’s something that I always need: a last goodbye, an explanation, I crave the ending. I don’t handle things well, but apparently you never really did either–but you could cut things out of your life, you left Arabia and the Great War behind and went onward.

Every time I see a painting, a statue, a film when you and the motorcycle, I feel like if I shout loud enough you won’t get on. Maybe one day you won’t, that’s what I really need. One day the bike won’t start and you’ll get a different one out, a slower one, or maybe it will start eventually but by the time you reach the bend in the road those kids will be gone ... Read more

You’re the reason that I bought this book today, and the reason that I bought it today and not when it first was released. I couldn’t read it then. It was too much, too close; years are coming to a close again (“The Year Turns ‘Round Again,” but we never were singing that song at the same time now, were we?). You still sting, like a papercut I forgot about until I get it wet. You’re like the window that looks closed but the cold still seeps in through it and makes me shake under the covers in bed at night. You’re in ever plane I see over head, you’re in ever khaki jacket and the smell of pipe tobacco and old maps; you’re the flicker between the film cells in old movies, and you’re going to live there for the rest of my life. T. E. L. and Mr. O’Toole are having coffee with you now. Or tea. Did you like tea better? I can’t remember. I can’t remember a lot of things anymore. I still wish I knew what happened to your horse, your rabbit, your airplane. You’re the tears when the Titanic goes down, you’re ... Read more

I guessed I messed up badly huh? I failed you, I was failing you ever since but then you still kept believing that there was more to me. A few weeks before you died, you asked me whether I’d missed you when you die and of course I knew then I surely would, I could still remember how that was our first and second to the last real talk and how we moved to the kitchen to fill our stomachs up, we were very silent then, we weren’t talking but we understood each other, it was the comfortable kind of silence, the one where you actually just here the air breathing as well. But now, it even sucks more because as much as I knew that I’d missed you, the pain of missing you never goes away, it hurts just as badly as you left and what’s worst is the guilt is eating me up every time, tears come running down over and over again, the guilt of not giving you my time when I knew a little of it was left, the guilt of thinking more about myself rather than taking care of you. I don’t know how I ... Read more

I miss you. Every one does. One thing I love about this book is, “There are two most important things in the world— being in danger, and being saved.” This is the thing, we were all once in danger and you came to save us, with your words and actions. No one could save you. You lost the biggest battle, but it’s ok, I’ve learned from this book that we should all forgive the ones that leave us, and that’s what I’m doing. I guess it was just your time to go. You never smoked, and you were 37 when you were diagnosed with lukemia. I didn’t even know until it was year four for you. I was six when you were diagnosed, so I guess my parents didn’t want to upset me. We were all going out for dinner, my mom dad brother and sister, and you called. My mom started crying and my dad was very upset. I was so confused. That’s when they told me it spread, and that you even had it. Every where. We could do nothing, just pray. That’s what we did, but I think you were just ready to go. You went out ... Read more

You were my godmother’s mother and a joy to have around. When I found my mother crying on the floor in our living room, she told me you passed away. She was crying so hard that I couldn’t help but feel sad too. I cried with her for awhile and I just couldn’t believe it. You were fun . I love you! P.S. We still have your salsa bowl, the one with grapes on it. So don’t worry, it’s safe. (It’s also one of mom’s most prized possessions). 🙂

There is something so real, raw, and honest about you and I find it striking. I say this in present tense because it stands true even though you are gone. I can watch an interview and feel so sure that you’re still here; or I can hear your song come on and every being of my bones starts to dance. How beautiful that you put sadness into something you can dance to. Thank you for that. Thank you for making sadness something beautiful, because it is. Thank you for making it real, raw, and honest just like you. It makes us feel, and it makes us remember we’re alive – there is still a beating heart there. You, beloved, remind me that I am alive. You, dear Amy, are still alive.