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.
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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.
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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.