I’m sorry to tell you that your time is up. I’m just not here to catch you so try not to fall. It hurts me to say this. To tear down your dreams, to rip through your seams, I can’t be your beam
Of light.

You led me home when I wandered away and you drug home the body I left behind me in shambles. You cradled my lifeless form and trusted my harmless grins. I ran through your dreams and my face imprinted itself in the crevices of your heart. Your swollen, your injured, your broken down heart.

If I led you on, I’m sorry. If I made you cry, I’m sorry. If I make you die, I’m sorry. I just don’t know what I’d say at your funeral. The planned out, ongoing, more than morbid funeral.

I hope that you find it in your aching heart to keep my name close and remember your inspiration that seeped through my veins and killed the depression.

Live as long as you can, my friend. But being my friend will always be our end. So hop back on that train, this is not your stop.