No one cares about life until it's too late. Imagine drowning in your own sadness, screaming silently into the void, but no one notices. No one hears. Not until the echo of the gunshot rips through the air, sharp and final. Only then do they stop, their laughter caught in their throats, their smiles fading. Only then do they look back, piecing together the fragments they ignored, whispering "Why didn't we see it?" But by then, it's over. You're gone. Why is it that life only matters in hindsight? Why do people wait to care, to listen, to love-when it could have made all the difference while you were still here?
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