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She will never tell a soul that she will die. She tells everyone, even the people closest to her, that what they found will be curable, at least mostly. Her brother, her friends, her boyfriend, and her extended family will be stuck with the lies until she takes her last breath. After she is gone. She cannot bear to see their faces when they hear it. When they see her without her makeup. If they saw her dying face, she would break. The thought of seeing the people she loves hear the news is almost worse than hearing it for herself. She doesn't know how to imagine their tears without trembling in fear. She doesn't want the people she loves to prepare for the death of a 15-year-old girl. How could she die now? Terrible. From this, so soon. Still, there is more to discover. The testing will never end. The medicine is infinite, and still being modified. She takes trips back and forth to the hospitals, trading locations often. There is a girl I know who rejects pity and won’t tell a soul what was truly found in her head. To tell them it has to be removed. To tell them there is so much more to discover still. There is someone I know who sometimes cannot walk and seems to spend more time on the floor than on her feet. Just like the boy she knows, on the days she can, she uses every part of her to show her energy, smiles, and laughter, pulled through her stomach that were hidden deep underneath the true weight she feels. She prays no one will see her in the way that she notices the boy she knows, the people around her who live secret lives, the girl she knows, the teachers she knows, the parents, the children, and the invisible. She prays, believing no one sees what she does when no one is watching. Her screaming for help in silence as she slumps in her seat, staring at her desk, suffering behind frozen eyes. There is a girl I know who loves Jesus and accepts whatever happens, is meant to be. Maybe it's because she will die. She tries to sit tall and get everything out of what may be her last breath. To care for the people noticed only by her. Crossing the line from invisible, to being. To being a friend. To being a shoulder. To being a student, a daughter, and a polite girl. Happy. The makeup she seamlessly hides behind, is to her, a soft shield. It is there to protect the people around her. She is accepting and loving, and if they see her dying face and crumbling body, her last moments will not be enjoyable. There is a girl I know. A girl who crossed the line.
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