I still can't believe she's gone. Gone-not really, though. I still think that sometimes i can feel her, not like a ghost, but more of a presence. A feeling, sort of, like she's standing behind me, and i can't see her but i know she's there. She was my sister, my protector, and now she's gone. She has left me alone, alone with father and my own bitter memories. I don't understand-i can't understand how she could have left, why she would want to leave. Sure, things had gotten pretty bad, but they could have been so much worse, there was still much more distance that we all could have fallen. But we were-the two of us-in this together. Weren't we? I used to think so, but as i got older, i wasn't quite so sure. We were sisters but…well, i guess i'll never quite understand Eponine. Indeed, she was my sister, but i often felt like so much of a stranger to her. She was a mystery to me, guided by passions of which i knew not. Me, who had never been in love, never felt the treads of my life inevitably tangle with another's. I've never felt anything like that. Not like her. Not like her at all. Her love for Marius was so deep, so profound, so slightly crazed. It changed her, loving Marius. She was never quite the same afterwards. I doubt anybody but me would have noticed. Me, who had known her so well once, who had been her closest friend, her ally, her confidant. When we were little, we'd been the best of friends, but now even though we were still close, something had come between us, yet i knew not what it was. Still, I've never understood her. Even back then, at the inn, i hadn't understood her, she'd always think differently, see things in a different way then i did. It didn't matter then. Well, now it does. She would always surprise me, always be a step ahead, always understanding more then i ever did. She was smart, quick, radiant, cleverer then i always was. Even dirty, ugly, and covered in rags she was captivating. She was the eldest, the strongest. I don't understand why she had to die. She was in love wit him, yes, but i don't think love is worth dying for. Obviously she, in her twisted romantic fantasies, did. She didn't have do go off to the barricades, didn't have to play the hero with that twit, that empty headed lump that stole my sister. Chances are, he didn't care. Chances are, he never cared a shit about her. You know, it probably wouldn't have been to big a loss if he'd died. She could have come to America with us. Just think! America! We'll be going on a boat, a very big boat perhaps, but if we go illegally, a very small one. Or as stowaways, maybe. I think Eponine would have liked that-going on a boat. I don't know what awaits us in America, but….hey, its got to be better then here. Right? But nothing will be the same without her, nothing will ever be the same without 'Ponine. She was always the one my parents cared most about, the one they praised and trusted, the one who helped the gang, leaded us in all the paths we took around the city. She was the Jondrette girl people cared about. And then there's me. The younger one that people ignored, that people just ordered about, forgot, the one sitting alone in a corner, cold and forgotten. Well, Eponine, look whose alive now. Look who's come this far, whose survived. You were the better one, but you are dead. Dead, for the love of him who never cared, who loved another. And then there's me, the other one, the one who made it out alive. The other Jondrette girl.