Letters I Will Never Send (I): Prove Me Wrong

Prove me wrong.

I don’t want another box full of memories, shut away in the back of a closet somewhere.

All I can do with that is open it from time to time, and try not to cry over how little is left to me.

I don’t want another fading recollection of a dream to look back on.

All I can do with that is hold what shreds are left to myself at night when I can’t sleep from the loneliness.

I don’t want another handful of wishes that will fly away once I’ve finally unclenched my fingers from the sheer agony of hoping for so long.

I don’t want another beautiful future to be taken away, leaving me to mourn what cannot be.

Three years I give you, because I know in three years, you’ll be gone.

Prove me wrong.