Unfinished

Effortlessly beautiful. That's how I would describe her. The twinkle in her eye revealed a passion, bigger than life. When I first met her I was a little jealous to be honest. She had mastered the art of truly being one of the boys, without them losing their desire for her. She was the only hot blonde I knew for whom respect was never an issue. A seasonal MVP at the pub quiz table, and not afraid to flex some muscle. The muscle that would come to kill her.

Even though she could have easily been every woman's natural enemy, everyone I know that knew her, loved her. She was one of those people who actually cared about the answer when she asked you a question. She cared about people, period.

The last time I saw her we talked about cupcakes. Fucking happy, stupid, colourful, moronic, delicious, cupcakes. We talked about tumours too, of course. And how good it was to talk again, and how we should do it more. She gave me a little pinch and a smile that said "It's just me, don't feel weird. The long blond hair maybe gone, and there may be some golf ball sized thing in my brain that's trying to kill me, but I'm not letting it get me down."

I'm so sorry the evil golf ball won. I'm sorry for all of her friends and family who'll have to miss her. I'm sorry she didn't get to finish her degree and officially graduate as the kick-ass cinematographer she was, be the star she would undoubtedly have become. I’m sorry she didn’t get to do all the things she wanted and deserved. I’m sorry and I’m pissed. You cannot finish a life by 29. No one can. It’s not fair.

She may not have had a chance to finish, but she never failed. She was a beautiful person, and she had fans. I will always be one of them.