I am DyingI am dying. At only 25 years of age, I am dying.I am Dying by ~RebeliousWOLF
It's such a beautiful word. Dying. Like a long slow sigh of relief after a difficult struggle, which is more than familiar to me. But the word and sound is the only beautiful thing about it.
I am likely to survive this ordeal, it happens often now. And when it does, I hear its secrets whispered and blown along the wind. From where I lie, in this lean white room, I hear them spoken under awnings, murmured over counters, delivered as well known facts across gates.
It won't be long now, they say he's dying.
At times like this, when this 'illness' appears, it's easy to see what's being said, ea
That poor manHe's that poor man from across the road, the one you used to see taking his pretty, dark haired daughter to school every morning, smiling at everyone. You probably exchanged a brief smile with him yourself a few times, when you were out in the garden. You have a lovely garden. He's complimented you on it before.That poor man by ~RebeliousWOLF
He's the one you used to see, a gleeful smile on his face when he was with his family. Watching him from the window of your house you used to think he was always so happy, but that's the thing isn't it, they're always the ones that hurt the most. There are times when you have to search for a second to remember his name. You're prett