reading Paul Kalanithi's When Breath Becomes Air, a piece of high octane award bait about being a talented neurosurgeon and ~philosopher of mortality~ then finding out you're going to die young of cancer, and there's this passage in it that is just bugging the shit out of me
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I didn’t regret it but not the best death book I’ve read, last chapter by kalanithis wife might be the best part
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