Last day

I woke up knowing that was the day I was going to die. I wasn't thinking of suicide, I just felt that was the end. I couldn't picture tomorrow. Everything was vague like all my memories were slipping away. What was I going to do on my last day on earth? I  heard that question before and usually million ideas crossed my mind. But then, when that question became my reality, I was just sitting paralyzed on my bed. The whole world hung on my soul.

I always wanted to go to Paris. I could have jumped on a plane and flew to Paris, but it all seemed so much trouble. And for what? I wasn't coming back to tell my friends how beautiful the Eiffel Tower was or to show them all the pictures I took. My friends, maybe I should have left them a goodbye message. "I'm sorry I have to go. I'm going to miss you all if there where I am going I will be capable of that feeling. Please don't cry for me". That would have been wrong. I never liked being told how to feel, so that wasn't going to be my last given advice.

Suddenly, sadness embraced me. I was going to die?! I was going to die without  ever having the chance to find happiness. My life had never been a bowl of cherries, but I kept struggling hoping that one day a rainbow will shine in my darkness. But that was it. My broken dreams were crushing me inside. I couldn't breath. I was choking on the ashes of a burned love. Was it all over?

I opened my eyes. I was thinking of him. I always thought someday we will be together. It wasn't meant to be. For the first time I was glad destiny kept us apart. Dying would have been so much harder, knowing that I leave him behind. Alone. He wasn't losing me, he never knew he was everything to me.

Time was passing slowly. My heart was beating fast. Tears began to fall. That was a good sign. As long as I cried, I was alive. But I couldn't move. I was tired. I looked out the window. The sky was so blue and peaceful. It is the last thing I remember. I fell asleep.