She heard a rustle of something light and airy brushing the gravelly sidewalk behind her, and glanced over her shoulder to pinpoint the sound. A dead leaf, rolling along the sidewalk, sailing on late autumn’s chilly breeze.
She let out a sigh. Great, she thought, just what I need right now- yet another sign that death happens anywhere and everywhere, anytime and everytime, to anyone and everyone. Death was like breathing, but so was living. Another sigh. She’d had this argument over and over in her head. With a best friend freshly and permanently thrown in the loony bin from commiting suicide and a mother in the hospital with a deadly cancerous disease taking every day and turning it into mere minutes, she had thought about death alot.
But then again she had also recently questioned herself on wether she was living. Really living. Did it matter? Because the way she looked at it: you are born to die. You start dieing the second you’re born. And so she walked, towards somewhere to live. Really live.

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