There is no plan B. You Have to believe me.
There is no "good" way of saying that you are dying.
So, I wont pretend.I will not try to tell you that I have lived a fulfilling life, and its time to put a period to the story of my existence. I wont tell you about glorified walks in illuminated gardens, the ones which I should have taken in my youth. I wont tell you of the soft gurgling rivulets that flowed through fields of gold while I sat next to it, hand in hand, a pretty damsel for company. Its not that I don't want to tell you this.
I cant tell you this.
Here I am, grovelling in muck, on all fours, like a lowly creature, fit to be forgotten and neglected. Whats worse is, the muck is actually not mud, or anything "muddy" that you would make it out to be. This muck, its a lot worse. Its made up of the worst things that you would imagine;you can imagine.I sit down, right in the middle of this desolate stretch of Your mind, where you generally don't want to step in.
Why cant I talk about all those beautiful things that I told you a while back?It is very simple; I am not assigned to do that. You see, each one of us here,we are given certain...objectives, if I may put it that way. Each one of us is supposed to handle a certain bunch of thoughts. you would have to be very unlucky to be me.I have the most painful bunch of thoughts; the fights, the crying, the stomping off, the break up.
Whats worse, I am dying.
What is "passing on"? What is to "expire"? Do you have to actually make an effort to be politically correct? Don't you think that actually defeats the purpose of death;of dying itself? The problem with you mortals is, you think death is a bad thing,just because you can afford to die.You think its a curse to die, to be removed;to be deleted. Its all a matter of perspective. You would have a totally different outlook had you been grovelling in the muck that I am in.
For the sake of an example, look at me. I have been trying to die for a while now. Existence to me is now just about a pittance. Every single time I think, the end is finally here, and I close my eyes, you bring me back.
Yes, you.
There are so many like me, grovelling in this muck, hoping to die out soon. Some have been lucky. The irony remains, that once we die, we don't turn into angels and fly off. That's the happier guys that I talked about a while back. When we die, we just cease to exist, and stay where we died. We Add to the muck. We ARE the muck.
Now do you see what I was talking about?
As a final word, all I would say is this; Please let me go. Move on. There are so many of my ilk; harbor them, cultivate them. I am too old and burnt out, I need to go now. You shall not be forgiven for what you are doing to me. Everyone has a right to die.
Please let me die...I beg you...Let...me...die...
Please...forget...
***********
Tears rolled down her eyes as she sat sipping coffee with her best friend.It had been two months, and she hoped that one day, he would be gone.Her friend held her hand.
"You have to let him go".
She sighed as she stared into her coffee. She whispered out the words, like steam dancing over the cup
"I cant forget him..."
[ What if memories felt pain,
What if the past died in vain,
What if it washed off like rain...
What if...you could be born again...]
