At my funeral, I don’t want you to say how “wonderful, talented and well spoken” I was. No. I want you to tell them that I was a mess. That I was beautiful chaos; destroying everything I touched but leaving no wreckage. Tell them about how many hearts I broke, how many dreams I invaded, how many enemies I made. I want them to know that I scorched the ground with my feet and raised tidal waves with my soul. I want them to know what a natural disaster I really was. I don’t want to be mourned. I want to be remembered.