5/3/2018, 12:09 am
I haven't been able to write for I am slipping through life's fingers.
Hanging on thin threads and swaying slowly, there's music, I believe.
Music of my heart beats and someone is singing reports on my condition.
I won't make it.
Everyone is loosing hope.
I am loosing hope.
Maybe that should be my end, cancer.
I wish my life would've ended in a better way, y'know?
I don't believe in love, but I've always wished I'd fall in love with a decent guy and he'd love me like I hold the universe in my eyes and it would be a mutual thing. We'd love each other crazily like no one else matters and nothing else should.
I always wished I could pursue my dream; the one no one knows about. I've wanted to be a singer, model and an actress. I wanted to influence people to be their best and I wanted to be a great friend to everyone; a shoulder they could all lean on.
But that's not meant for me.
None of my dreams are meant for me.
So I'm minimizing my dreams.
The highest dream I think I've reached is to be able to survive one more day.
YOU ARE READING
One Last Miracle
Short StoryDying. That's how she is. Dying. -- Miracles happen and one of them is the desire to write her thoughts in a worn out copybook. So she does and she hopes when she's gone, anyone would find it. That's the only way to ensure she won't be forgotten.
