Nothing is easy
I read every word that he wrote. According to the most popular media it accounted for 106,000 words. Long and detailed would be my opinion. Once again we as a society have suffered. I did read the words. I did not cry as often as he did, but I did cry.
I had considered recently, video games. I do not know the games, I have never played them. But he did. I do not however believe in this instance that games played a part of what has again happened. Innocents shot and killed.
This writing is not about them.
I am going to write about the child that killed the innocents.
Unlike the current opinion, this young man did not hate women. Rather he longed for one. He wrote of walking hand in hand on a beach. Touching an unknown face. Looking an eye to eye, if only once.
I believe he was a horrible romantic who clung to ideals no longer regular. He was a gentleman thus above and better than the brutes that gained the pretty blonds he dreamed of.
He tried so very hard. He would walk for miles, hoping that someone would tell him hi. He would sit for hours wishing that someone would strike up a conversation. He had much to say. Clealy from the words he was able to write.
He was unfortunately unable to speak as easily as he wrote. He had so much to say, so many tears.
He is dead now. At the age of 22, he is gone, as are the ones he took with him.
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