Fiammetta Eugenia, 22, Florence.
Lee Alexander McQueen (17.3.1969 - 11.2.2010)
Usually we celebrate someone’s birth, not his death.
Birth is an introduction, a start, and then your life will be a journey, a book to write. You can be great or be anonimous or none of them. But if you do something unforgettable, people will be grateful forever. They will remember the day you were born as a thanksgiving to the fortuity that has brought such a special person in the world.
But not you if cut off that talent with your life. Not if you commit suicide.
Suicide is controversial. Suicide shouldn’t be an option, but someone condiser it as the only one. The others simply stare at it, without comprehension, with anger. Or with regret, desperation. Because beyond sadness there was greatness, an everlasting talent. And that talent could be the favourite thing of someone, the only thing important. But it ended. Vanished with a lonely act that we can take note of, without the will of doing something to stop.
Personally I don’t always remember his birth, but I feel 11.2 days before it arrives. After four years I’m more accustomed to it, but the hole in my stomach is still huge. I’m moving in the rut he left in my life, but it’s hard. I’m not a fashion expert, I can’t say which is the exact reason he was The Greatest, but I know he was. Because he was it for Me. I miss him. I forever miss him.
Rest in Peace.