You are dead.

No wait…

Hi, Heather how are you?

No, that’s stupid, she is dead…

I am sad.

True but, argh!

Dear Heather I wrote a string of tweets yesterday because I was too high off of caffeine to care about grammar and if you want you can check out the tweets they are all about you and how your death impacted me and how I wish you lived so follow me at @poet_rose wait you can’t what the fuck am I still typing for.

Why am I such a mess?

Breathe.

Okay, try again.

Dear Heather, I found out your had a dog. Specifically a chichaucha and you named it violet and I had a dream about meeting your dog and it being stupid cute with buggy eyes and we went on an adventure to find violet doggy hair dye so we can run around Puget Sound with a violet dog but then I woke up and you are still dead…

… no…. that’s not what I want to say at all!

Dear Heather, fuck you for dying on us. No one had to die. But you had to be there. Didn’t you have better things to do besides fighting American Nazis!?! You had a dog, dammit!

That was just insulting but okay… no. Not okay. Try again.

Dear Heather, on August 12, 2017 you died for my right to exist in America but you never knew me. You marched against racist in Charlottesville, VA. You are technically White by American standards but I am beginning to think that European American would be more apt because I want to keep your name away from any association with those fucking bigots!

Too political… try again.

Dear Heather D. Heyer, your dad and mom were on the news. I read that you had a paralegal job and you are only a few years older than me. Heard you were going to go to school. You would have made a kickass lawyer. We also had a lot in common. You cry during sad and traumatic news and you are passionate about equality and you hate bigots and did I mention you had a dog named Violet. Your favorite color is violet.

Pick a past tense or present tense verb.

Fuck you.

What?

FUCK YOU. THIS SHIT IS HARD.

Yes but you got to.

I KNOW BUT SHE IS DEAD IT HURTS AND SHE CAN NEVER COME BACK AND SHE DIED FOR MY RIGHT TO EXIST AND WHAT CAN A SUICIDAL 28 YEAR OLD BLACK PINOY ON THE WEST COAST DO. I WAS ASLEEP WHEN THE CAR PLOWED THROUGH HER BODY AND SHE PROBABLY HAD DREAMS AND FOUGHT WITH HER PARENTS AND GOT DOGGY KISSES AND HAD LOTS OF LOVED ONES AND THEY ARE NOW SUFFERING ALL FOR MY RIGHT TO EXIST AND THAT WEIGHT IS TOO DAMN HEAVY IT FEELS LIKE AN ALBATROSS IS TIED TO MY CHEST AND IT IS SO FUCKING HEAVY SO I COULDN’T GET UP WHEN THEY ANNOUNCED HER DEATH I COULDN’T SHOWER OR EAT OR TALK I WAS JUST BAWLING ON THE FLOOR YELLING AT PEOPLE ONLINE BECAUSE I NEEDED SOMEONE ELSE TO KNOW HOW MUCH THIS HURT AND NOW IT IS DAYS AFTER HER DEATH AND IT STILL HURTS AND I AM TRYING TO MAKE SENSE OF IT ALL BUT SHE IS DEAD AND WHAT AM I SUPPOSE TO DO?!?!

… Live.

What?!?

Live. Honor Heather and live and write and hell, maybe get a bet dog named Violet. But live. Don’t throw your existence away because some assholes don’t want you in your homeland. Live. Live so fiercely that it pisses them off.

But, she is dead…

Many died for your right to live before her. She is now with them. Do what you do best with your life now. Write from them. To them. With them. Write, live, and love.

…I’ll try.

Okay. Up for another draft.

Sure…

Dear Heather Heyer,