My slow death

I'm dying, not in the way of emotionally hurting, but in the physical way of my body is slowly deteriorating as I age. When I begged you to ride in your truck and listen to music, it was me wanting to be near you one last time when I could still hear you. When I begged for you to dance with me standing in your driveway while we were talking with our friends, it would be the only time I would have gotten to dance with me standing without braces on my legs or in a wheelchair.When I begged for you to hold my hand when I was wheeled into the hospital after trying to drive to your house, to see you one last time, when I could still feel the weight of your hands in mine. When I begged for you to let me ride with you you told me you didn't have any room for me to sit in your truck. When I begged for you to dance with me you said you were tired and didn't want to dance because it was pointless and stupid.When I begged for you to hold my hand you said you were busy with working on your trucks a party that weekend. What you didn't realize was that the party that weekend was supposed to be for me, to say my final goodbyes to my friends and family but I never made it.