When you read this I can only hope you are doing well.
For I won’t know where I will be and if I’d ever tell.
Why I left so early for coming mishaps, or too late by a bad guess perhaps.
Regardless, I am not made to say intact.
I want you to know where I stood, lay, and walk with our lives.
How I felt, saw, heard, and taste the bitterness of time.
It wanes, it agonizes, it stabs, it won’t stop, and it was mine.
My life was still, lifeless, and meandered to the will of no kind.
I live through the eyes of you, because I can’t live to see mine whither no longer.
I’m sorry, and it pains me to admit this to you, as someone who loves you.
But the disease that haunts me has paired itself with the concept of time.
One concept, that the human body cannot compete in any life.
Funny, how much time I spent loving you, and living with you.
Yet time spent is but fleeting, and you’re only left with few.
I wonder who’s left, who stuck by you.
Since I am not there, I’ll never know the truth.
I’m sorry I could not be there as you grew out of your youth.
I’d blame myself, again, but it wouldn’t heal nor help.
Wherever I am, I’m alone now.
And I died by myself.