To Die Young

I can feel my soul wilting and drying up through my days. Even as you see me smile, just remember that it’s fake. I can feel a physical pain in my chest. I have always worried over the troubles of others and made them my own. Now, I find that it is no longer in my capacity to care. As I walk through the days I must paint my façade of joy upon my face. Some days I cannot even manage that. I do know what is wrong with me. They needn’t tell me, in fact, I wish they will not say it aloud. I just want to know how long it will be until it is all over. I want to know when the pain will seize. Don’t you understand why? I must know the time, I have many things to do you see. I have always been ever so busy; I cannot slow down for something so insignificant. These things must not be done in a particular order; they just need to be completed. When there is nothing left to be done then all there is, is the end. I want to know when so you can know when, to be there. That would complete it all. I know I’m being selfish but I don’t care. Would you stay with me, comfort me in my distress . . . would you hold me?  If you could, I would promise to go softly. You must wonder why I ask such things of you. You must notice that I love so many things in my life that I could not leave without something of me. The best thing to leave behind is always who you are and who you used to be. That is all of my heart, something I used to have enough of to give to all of them.  But now it is broken and leaking my soul. I cannot leave them something so violently sad and sickly. I am sure you could understand something so simple. If you could do me this small favor I know that my soul would mend and once again begin to glow. When it is over you may forget, but my soul will be around you in all those in my life that I truly love . . . and perhaps in your own heart, whether you know it or not. I’m not asking that much, really, I hope you don’t say no. Please, you are the perfect person to love me as I die.