Here You Can Rest

My skin tingles, a thousand pinpricks that prove that I’m still alive, even though I don’t want to be.

It’s getting harder to put one foot in front of the other, to keep on keeping on.

Life wasn’t supposed to be like this; it wasn’t what I planned.

Fate had other ideas.

I’m breathing, I’m breaking and I’m fighting, while inside I’m screaming to be set free.

I saw a post on Pinterest that hit me so hard.

And when death find me, I hope it whispers, “Come now, the fight is done,” and takes my hand gently like an old friend who understands why I’m so tired. I hope it says, “You’ve carried enough, let me hold this weight for you.”  I hope it promises, “Here there is quiet.  Here you can rest.”