As my chest tightens and my heart grows unbearably heavy,
my eyes blur, and my soul quietly slips away.
With death lingering at the edge of my hazy vision,
all I crave is a single moment—
a moment to live with you before I go.
Just once, I want to hold your hand,
to rest my head on your shoulder
and tell you all the stories I read,
the ones where love always found a way.
I want to admire you beneath the soft glow of the moonlight,
to cook your favorite meal and watch you smile,
to cry—quietly—in your arms,
feeling safe, even if only for a heartbeat.
I want long drives with the windows down,
with laughter echoing between us and the stars as our witnesses.
I want to see you chasing your dreams,
to hear your laughter—raw, real and free.
I want to take care of you when the world feels too much,
to make you feel the depth of my love in ways words could never capture.
I want to ask you, “Which earrings suit me best?”
to wear your favorite color just to see you look at me longer.
I want to lay my head in your lap,
to complain about the world but never about you.
I want your scent wrapped around me,
your clothes draped over my skin,
my fingers tangled in your hair,
whispering that every worry of yours could rest with me.
I want to kiss you—slowly, deeply—
with every ounce of passion I buried inside.
And, selfishly,
I want to tell you that I’m better than her.
But I can’t.
Because I’m not.
And now, as I fade—
I realize I can’t fit a lifetime of love into a single moment.
Especially when you never gave me the chance.
So, as I leave,
if there’s one wish I get to keep—
it’s for your happiness.
Even if it’s without me.