I have some old notepads that have the occasional diary entry or piece of writing in. Most of the notepad is rubbish, and I want a clear out of them. So in the mean time, I'm going to copy some out here. Mixture of fiction and non-fiction entries.
I gave my love to someone I made a promise to. A friend who felt lost, alone and unloved. I promised him he would find love, not knowing that would be me. We helped each other trust again. Gave ourselves to each other completely.
As time has passed, I have gone from caring for a best friend, to being in love, to finding that the love I thought only existed in poetry was real.
The years have bought ups and downs, though our love has only grown more concrete.
I found out last month. What can I do? Allow him to care for me? Watch as I slowly rot away? Which is better: A broken heart filled with sorrow or a broken heart filled with hatred?
If he hates me maybe he will move on one day.
I don't want his memory of me to be a shadow of who I once was. Nor do I want his memory of our relationship to be of him cleaning me. Having the smell of impending death upon the air, of machines and pills, injections and incontinence pads. Dying doesn't scare me. What's waiting between now and then does.
They delivered the diamorphine today. Ready for the pain. Cancer doesn't hurt so much, it's the things cancer does to your body that causes the pain. As things are eaten away and calcified.
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