It’s been more than five years since Elliott Smith stabbed himself in the heart and almost twelve since Jeff Buckley wandered into the Wolf River and drowned. It’s kind of messed up how angry I still get about their deaths. I no longer feel this kind of rage when I think about people I know who have passed away; the anger has faded, and I simply remember how much I loved them and how much I enjoyed the time we spent together. I guess maybe this is natural, but it still makes me feel bad sometimes, like I should be as outraged about my loved one’s deaths as the deaths of celebrities I’ve never met.
