the pain of death

You knew I was never fascinated by life, I never loved the damn thing. I am a writer, I love the pain of death more, the words that the silence speaks when someone is lost. That is the thing about pain, it sells and death is the most tragic form of it. So when I thought of dying, I always thought I would part easily because I never cared about life. But then, I loved you and I still do. And that is what makes dying damn difficult for me because death means you being upset and I never wanted to gift you tears. I will always look over you, when you wake up and yawn like a little kid, when you frown a little when you realize you aren’t a kid anymore, the little smile you have when you have the first sip of your morning coffee and the spark in your eyes when you forget the world and do something you always wanted to.
You would expect me to get it cured, for the sake of you and for the sake of our love. But I won’t, I won’t because the chances of my survival are very less and baby I can’t leave you with both an empty heart and an empty bank account. That is what loves tell me to do but then, I can’t leave you with what if’s, the thoughts of me actually being around you and living our dreams. You are that one drug I am addicted to, the one that even makes death painful for someone who dreamt of it, the one who won’t let me die with peace.
Nowadays, I don’t focus on being fine and healthy, I don’t focus on living and breathing all I care about is making sure I speak all good and sensible stuff because who knows what would be my last words. I can’t let my last words be “I love pizza”, can I now? No offense pizza is good but pizza isn’t you. So I spend my days telling you how much I love you, typing it all out so that one day she will look at it and realize how she needs to love you, how you deserve to be loved. That is one thing I would never tell you, I would never tell you that you did me wrong even though it felt so on days when I woke up with pain. I have lived pain with you, a lot of it and now when we were to finally get the happiness, there won’t be a “we” left. Or will there be? I don’t know, I hope you do.
Lately I have been working a lot on schedules and drafts, on lists and notes that keep reminding you of the stuff you need to do, the stuff we had to do and what we did, each of them ends with me writing that I love you because you need to remember it, you need to remember it as a fact. Just like you remember loving her, the way you remember how pretty she is in all those candid moments. But it’s okay love, today I won’t tell you about how much it hurts and how unfair it feels to be the one giving 80 percent of the love in our relationship. I won’t because when I am not around, you will know and feel enough of that even when I don’t want you to. It’s a tough choice for me, to make you fall in love with me completely or make you fall out of it. If you fall for me, the weight of my illness would have eaten me and I won’t be there to catch you, you will break and if you don’t you will die daily in bits and pieces because you never loved me the way I deserved. What should I do? I will let love take a toll over it now.
Each day from today, I will make you sit down and write a eulogy with my hand on your shoulder. You will resist, I know you will because you don’t want to imagine the day when I won’t be there and the thought scares you. You love her but you love me too and I know you hate how I slip away from your hands like the wind. You want me here, you want to stay wrapped in me and stay safe because our love is what makes us feel so safe.
And that is the thing about our love, it’s not quite complete yet and it has to take a pause here. I am out of breathe and so is my heart but it loved you as much as it could. Maybe not in this lifetime, maybe in this one you are meant to be hers, but in the next life our hearts will write love like an immortal poem so for the lifetimes to come I will stay, you will and so will our love.