There is so much poetic about death, but I can not make this that. Your fear of death was unreasonable, I didn’t ‘get it’. It is not a phobia, it is not a fear. It is your life. Death snuck into your bedroom and it lives there, slowly eating you from the inside out. Who knows? A whole life will be given to patience, sitting and waiting. It’s lurking around every corner, inside every lover. It’s a secret that I don’t know how to keep. A life I don’t know how to save. It’s something bigger than I’ve ever known. It’s a war inside of you that must be constantly slowed down. You’re a bubble or a balloon that they have to save from popping. The ultimate pop. One large explosion as your lungs collapsed and your heart stopped. The blinding pain of watching your life flash before your eyes. Having to let it burn right until the end. I bet that moment when you died an instant death, when your soul became a star and you're mind an abyss of nothingness, was hardly instantaneous. I watched as your eyes went from everything to nothing in a flash. I watched my lover implode, but I never knew what to do. I'd hoped you'd live my lover. But you became a star instead.

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