A letter to my best friend

You do not have the right to leave me.
Do not use my birthday as a stake for when it’ll be over.
Don’t you fucking do that.

It’s not fair.
We have plans.
I don’t want to talk about you in the past tense.
It isn’t something you can take back.

I don’t think I could handle that call.
The one that says sorry.
The one that’s been perfectly crafted for every person.

I don’t want to find out you attempted, run off to your hospital and have someone walk out of those doors holding the information that i’ll never see you again.

I don’t want to go to that funeral.
I don’t want to buy those flowers.
The purple ones I’ve seen in stores, the ones that made me think of you.
The ones that caused me to breakdown when I got home.
The ones that made me think too much about the future you want for yourself.
I don’t want that paper airplane tattoo to be a memorial.

I don’t want you to go.

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