Death is nothing.
3 days ago, my landlord died in his room. He was my roommate.
We didn't know he died there, so I think we slept at least one day with a body. It's scary.
Wednesday night, his family came, and they found he was death. At the time, I opened the front door, because they didn't have a key. After I know he died, I could not stop shaking. His ant cried.
The day, I saw two CSI, and I talked with many policeman. I think it was not bad. They didn't suspect me or his family at all, because they believe he died due to overdose of cocaine.
I was not so close to my landlord, so I didn't feel sad. I, however, cannot stop thinking about him. It is not because he died, but because the death itself give me deep impression.
After he died, many policeman came, and they investigated his room. 2 hours later, all of them went out. That's it. Nothing has happened any more. I think it is weird. Because a death should be special. But actually it is not. Nobody cares. How sad it is. I think I'm sad in that reason.
Maybe I can die one day accidentally, and I'm sure nobody would remember me. Some of my friends might be sad one week or two weeks. But what does it mean? Nothing.
I think ironically only love is able to make the death special. It is because if we hate someone, we would not miss him.