Departure
The last time I was dying did not hurt this much; less pain resided inside of me back then.
Just before you die, all the sediments of pain raise and morph into a whirlwind which only intent is to leave you. That separation hurts even more than harboring the anguish, but this time I endure. After the agony of the detachment is over, the pain is gone.
If I could feel, I would rejoice. But, I can not; I am gone, too.
Categories: Moments, Six sentences
Stumble it!
Every time I die, it hurts worse. Someday it will hurt so badly I shall never recover.
Arguable. Some, for example, say that “pain is weakness leaving the body”. Those “some” probably do not suffer from arthritis.
Oh cold rainy days, all my sins return to me.