I’d vowed to dance on this person’s grave. When the time came, there was no exaltation. There was nothing. And that was appropriate, for it ended the way it began.
I take no solace or joy in this man’s passing. We will not dance upon his grave, nor stand vigil at his funeral holding “God Hates Freds” signs, tempting as it may be.
He was a tormented soul, who tormented so many. Hate never wins out in the end. It instead goes always to its lonely, dusty end.
More on this topic: See Huffington Post
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