More boring writing again. Seriously, I can't stop.
This day, the start of the rest of my life, born from disease.
Six months. Just six months to travel the world,
Blind, in a frenzy of panic.
Now, though I hate myself for it, I understand time.
I understand how it chews through you.
I understand how, unlike me, it can never just sit there
And watch the world go by.
For the first time in my life, six months means something
And, somehow, it’s easier to live
Knowing that, one day sooner than I’d hoped, I’ll expire.