In the end
One year
Worthless
Two years
Help
Three years
Hurts more or less
Four years
Numb
Five years
Okay
Six years
Alright
Seven years
Almost there
One more
10 more
20 more
30 more
40 more...
Which one is this again?
I think I've lost count
Now I'll say my last words
Take my laugh breath
Take my last sigh
Don't cry, we're all born to die
In the end.
Gone
When I’m gone, I hope someone will uncover all this writing that I have done. Someone who believed they knew me but never had a clue. In the beginning of all my journals lies the words "Do not read this unless you are with me or unless I am dead."
When I am gone, may it be due to old age or some tragedy, I want someone to know who I truly was.
But while I am here, I want to find someone to share my books with.
Were I gone, it would be too late to truly share my memories. So I write them down, just in case I don't have the opporunity while I'm here. So that when I am gone, I may still find my soulmate from the grave.
Crazy? I am not crazy.
Here? Only sometimes – I often wander.
Romantic? I am head over heels for someone I may never meet.
Gone? For now, I am here.