Dying is such a strange sentiment.
We’re all told to shun it— to look past it and not speak of such a grave thing.
Yet we all will die.
We all have a designated death date.
It will always be unbeknownst.
Something that no one wishes to acknowledge— or accept.
Death is taboo to speak of, yet it is so prevalent in our human lives.
How vexing.

Can you still see me

Standing in this dark room

Talking to the memory of you

Your hand is back in my hair

The love is still there

Just like you never left

But that is not my life

I couldn't sit pretty

To let you create a pretty lie

And now I'm here and for all I know..

You may have died.

In another life,
I could’ve—
enjoyed reading beside you,
folded clothes together,
sat side by side in complete silence,
sung along with your guitar,
made jokes about nonsensical things.
We could have.

I don’t need your time.
I have you in my head, heart, and soul.
But if you have nothing better to do,
I would never mind your time.
“If only… in some other universe, we had every waking minute for one another.”

Do you feel it too?
Or am I scribbling a madman’s manuscript?
The warmth, the haze—
This feeling of a desperate chase.

Does nature only mock me?
Does it grace you?
The wind caresses the skin of all beings—
Do they call you a pawn
In a mesmerizing scheme?

Or am I just being dreamy?
It is necessary for my heal.
Is it the same, the likewise intuition?
Do you feel, what I feel about this creation
Or is it - crazy guy's manifestation.
Do you feel it too?
What I feel?
Listening to my conscience I scream.

I can’t wait to go.
I can’t wait to know I don’t have to wake up the next day with the uncertainty of tomorrow.
I can’t wait to leave, and to feel that relief I’ve so heavily sought after.
Maybe the pain wouldn’t even feel dreadful, or unwelcome.
I’d revel in it, and feel so free.
So free, and happy— knowing that everything is leaving me.
Not that I even had anything in the first place.
Don’t be scared if I’m not there tomorrow.
Or the next week, or month, or year.
That I’m just gone.
I’ll be gone without any trace of me ever having existed in the first place.
At least that’s how I’d like it to be.
I hope you’d at least think of me every once in a while.