I struggle to breathe when I think about my actions. I struggle to feel what my heart wants to feel. I plot my own demise and think how best to word it. Because sometimes my only gift seems to be my absence.
I give by taking away. And it cuts me.
They wouldn't really mind - not for long anyway. It's all just a mist, right? A vapour? But I've got to get up every morning - regardless of my desires - because I'm still too scared to let go. And if my gift is Absence, then I pray it happens quickly.