Afterglow
if found, return to closest moss covered rock
- Feb 22, 2025
- 306
Sometimes I read about someone who's terminally ill. Someone my age. Someone who wanted things. Plans. A future that got cut short.
And my first thought isn't noble. It isn't kind.
It's, "Why them?"
They have friends who adore them. Families who would give anything to keep them. Dreams that feel bright. They want to live so badly.
And I'm over here, drifting. Going through days half in the present and half in my head. Wasting time. Not sure what I'm doing.
Sometimes I wish to myself that there was a way to trade places. Not because I think I'm heroic. Not because I think I'd be brave about it.
Just because it feels like this is how it was supposed to be.
They could have the long, full, unobstructed life they're fighting for everyday. And I could stop feeling like I'm carelessly holding something they would have cherished.
And my first thought isn't noble. It isn't kind.
It's, "Why them?"
They have friends who adore them. Families who would give anything to keep them. Dreams that feel bright. They want to live so badly.
And I'm over here, drifting. Going through days half in the present and half in my head. Wasting time. Not sure what I'm doing.
Sometimes I wish to myself that there was a way to trade places. Not because I think I'm heroic. Not because I think I'd be brave about it.
Just because it feels like this is how it was supposed to be.
They could have the long, full, unobstructed life they're fighting for everyday. And I could stop feeling like I'm carelessly holding something they would have cherished.
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