Her eyes were closed, her skin pale, but her hands were still her hands, still warm, and her nails were painted this dark blue black color, and. She was in the ICU when I snuck in for ten minutes and I just sat with her before I got caught. And isn't that more than most of us get? When Hazel was sick, I knew I was dying, but I didn't wanna say so. Maybe she wasn't loved widely, but she was loved deeply. She didn't want a million admirers, she just wanted one. She asked me to write one, and I'm trying, but I just. I don't wanna ask you for any favors, but if you have the time - and from what I saw you had plenty - please fix this for me: It's a eulogy for Hazel. You're a shitty person, but a good writer.
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