This is the touch and go. The breath before the giveaway. The feeling of every ghost dancing from the pit of your stomach through the vines of your throat telling everyone that you are letting them go. They won’t want you to leave. I can promise you this. But you’ve been burning without fuel for too long The sun licked your cheekbones this morning and you wanted to know what it meant to be only light to be dying star to be collapsing supernova in the galaxy of terminal illness. It is okay to say you want to give up. I call it wanting to go home. I call it being tired of having calloused hands desperately fighting time. Fighting the inevitable. We are not a rainstorm of lost faith. We are a baptism of acceptance. Goodbye can rush out of your open mouth whenever you’re ready, darling. I will cradle an “I love you” to sail down the riverbed of whichever afterlife you choose. This This is how I will always find a way to be next to you.