I made it.
I went through the lies.
I went through the hurt.
I went through hurting other people.
So I could get it.
To UCLA.
I can't believe it was for nothing.
I can't believe during my last performance with VA I fell.
I can't believe I hit my head.
I can't believe I'm dying.
I had it made.
Scholarship.
Broadway.
It somehow slipped through my fingers.
Even though I held on to it so, so tight.
I can't believe how the world was so cruel to me.
I can't believe I was that cruel to the world.
Shelby.
I loved you like a mother.
You basically were my mother.
How could you make me so cold?
How could you make me so unloving?
How could you be so cruel?
You weren't just cruel to me.
You were cruel to Rachel.
Rachel.
You were so innocent.
You were so beautiful.
And annoying, and selfish, and conceited.
But we would have been perfect.
We could have taken Broadway by storm.
How could you believe that I never really loved you?
How could you let me egg you?
I've never seen you so broken.
I've never seen you go that long without talking.
That's when I knew, I knew there was a permanent effect from that last egg.
But how could you do that to yourself.
You always knew how make an entrance.
But most importantly, you knew how to make an exit.
I died a little that day.
That day you hung yourself in our auditorium.
You must've known I would be there first.
You must've known I would've seen you.
Never forgotten.
You, like many other artists, are legendary in death.
I can hear the doctors around me.
I can hear their frantic movements.
It's no use.
When I fell from the stage.
I fell hard.
But stars don't fall.
I never got a chance to be a star.
To be the star.
So I fell.
I let everything slip from my fingers.
I let Rachel.
I let UCLA.
I let Broadway.
I let Fame.
But I don't understand.
I held on so tight.
I can hear the heart monitor slowing.
And for just a nanosecond I can hear it stop completely.