You have your moment of laughter when you're dieing. You collapse and you're not arrogant, you're just a weak person and you know it. You've accepted it and you think about how fucked up it all is. You remember too many things. Some, you wish you could forget. You bleed a little more until all that's inside of you is a darkness. A deep, bitter darkness that you know you've been fighting for years. You always knew there was no hope, there was no cure. And somehow, you accepted that. One day, you knew it was going to be the day you were going to die, so you laughed that whole day, at big things and little things. You touched his face, you treasured him like you had for years. You remembered every fine moment with him, the moments he made you angry and the world seemed to stop mattering, the moments he made you happy, where you couldn't feel anymore like you two were one person. Sometimes, when he held you, he became your medicine. Sometimes we he stared at you like only he could, your heart learned to beat and stop beating all at once. You knew what it was like, to be alive, to love someone, to have a cure and to find a sense of reprieve from the dark thing inside of you. It lives inside of you, feeding off of you, in a way it's like a fetus. It is a parasite. It won't be born, it won't be something beautiful. It will be ugly and stupid and small. And it will have the power to break you. It will have the power to consume your soul. And when it finally kills you and you know that day will be your last, you laugh. Not because it has won or because your suffering is over, but because it hurts less and everything is so damn ironic and fucked up all at once that laughing seems like the only way out of it all. You don't try to understand. You accepted it. You don't fight it. You know it will win. And you think of all the people you've let down, the places you've been and all the places you could've been. And it doesn't seem fair, it isn't right. But it doesn't change the fact that you're dieing and then that doesn't even matter the most. It's his eyes. It's his goddamn eyes and the way he stares at you. And you learn what it means to die in a different way. You learn what it means to take someone's life without drawing blood or any other volatile physical way. You learn what it is to take half a person with you and to be more than just yourself all at once. You learn that you have destroyed another persons' life and they will never be the same after you're gone. Then you figure out that the point of life, was to realize that one moment, that one thing, that it was never about you, it was always about that truth, that truth you could never see because you were too busy fighting that dark thing in your head, stalling for time. It doesn't seem worth it in the end. But it is. It is. It was all worth it, just to see those damn eyes.
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