Over a year ago My theatre teacher told me And a group of my closest friends To write down Exactly what we would do if We found out we only had Twenty-four hours left To live.
My original draft was very juvenile, Full of dramatic kisses And dying in my crush's arms.
It was beautiful For a seventeen-year-old romantic.
I don't know if my teacher realized That I would become slightly Obsessed with What I would do If I had twenty-four hours to live. But whether she realized or not, Obsessed I became.
I wrote "24" or my hand each day For weeks, To remind me that I could be Dead in twenty-four hours, Or less.
I wrote at least fifty drafts Of what I would do If I found out at that moment That I had twenty-four hours left. I would write a new draft when I decided That the previous draft was Too out-dated. I think the longest lasting draft During my surge of Twenty-four hour hypotheticals Lasted one week. One.
I was totally obsessed with daring greatly, Doing the things I had longed to do For weeks or months or years, And suddenly I had the permission I needed To do them: Twenty-four hours to live.
My drafting came to an end when My best friend Handed me the best Twenty-four hour outline I had ever seen.
At the top read the disclosure: And you get into heaven no matter what.
I couldn't surpass that list with any of my own ideas. And my obsessment was already dimming.
A year and a half or more later, I don't make drafts. I'm not obsessed. I'm not going to die.
But every once in a while When I feel like I'm not living Life To it's fullest, I write "24" on my hand for A few days. Just to remind myself, That at any moment, My twenty-four hours left to live Could be up.