The first time, I was still a student, preparing for my diploma exam, learning from copies of K’s perfect notes on literature, when I was told she was dying of breast cancer. I liked K a lot.
I’ve just found out a colleague whose translated sentences I am using as a reference right now passed away 6 months ago. She was a year younger than me. I liked B a lot.
While I wouldn’t go so far as to say K and B live on through me (what a horrible claim), I find it a bit consoling that written words should live on.
Like traces in the vast plains and swirls of our universe.