Deathbed

Happy birthday, Michael.  What a tremendously sad and wasteful year you’ve had.

I would set myself on fire for you.

“And we are sick of broken hearts and hating ourselves. Sick of doubt and pretending not to care. Now we are longing for the days when the sound of laughter didn't make us bow our heads; the days when we had it all. The years stretched out before us and it could only get better, the night has sent its ache into us and I am worried I've used up the good in me. I don't want to waste my life staying angry and scared. Here is to the great disconnect where our hearts leave our body and the only thing left is to walk on. But before I go, before I leave, I want you to know I struggle and that I fear when the time comes, I won't know how to say I'm sorry and I miss you.”

My world has exploded

“With so much gloom surrounding, I feel cornered up against the wall. Pulled down and slowly drowning; taking bets I knew was next to fall. I saw the glass as half full, so I felt I could ask for more; I was comfortable. It spilled over onto the floor. I beg to comeback to before, with the damage done and the damage won. Like a wave, like the rapture; something you love is gone, something you. It leaves you fractured. I saved the worst for last.”