I hope death
is like being carried,
arms cradling you gently,
the way they did when you were small
when you fell asleep on the couch
at family parties,
lost in the sound of laughter,
your head too heavy to lift
but your heart still full of warmth.
I hope you can hear them,
just faintly,
voices you love
echoing from the next room,
alive and carefree,
while you drift in that space
between waking and dreaming,
held close, safe,
as if nothing can ever hurt you again.
Because you suffered,
too much,
through the pain of dying.
You fought a battle
no one should have to face alone.
But now,
there's only softness,
only warmth.
I hope death is the rest
you've longed for,
like those quiet moments
when the world could still
hold joy,
and all you needed to do
was close your eyes
and be carried
somewhere safe,
where you could finally
let go.
