What killed him depends on how you ask
the question. It was, at once,
civility,
the desire to be thoughtful and to not intrude on the kindness, the
privacy of friends.
It was, as well, obedience, faithful love and cleaving to parents who,
somehow, held him still with lines from childhood. It was also,
rebellion,
the desire, the tug against those lines so strong, the tug so demur and
unobtrusive.
He died to not choose. He died to not be afraid of dying. To not be
afraid of
disappointing. To not know leaving.
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