two weeks turned to three and three to four, and now I’m here unsure what to think. should I praise god for giving me more time of display my anger for not bringing her back with it? I’m looking at a calendar two and a half weeks past the little red ex on the left hand corner, my expiration date.
this is what I was now, an expired person… like the milk on the second shelf of the fridge no one remembers to take out. I was just sitting here waiting to be taken away. could you even count me as one of the living? a month after I stopped my treatements and i was dead…
so why am I still sitting here on a Sunday morning waiting for the trash collector?
