the last day of my life On the last day of my life, I hope I’m tired. Not tired like after a bad night of sleep, tired like after a really good trip. Tired from museum mornings and sightseeing afternoons, tired from not wasting a moment. On the last day of my life, I hope my body is worn out. Not worn out like something that wasn’t taken care of, worn out like something that was well used. Worn out with laugh lines and ink under my skin, worn out from decades of sunny summers and wedding cakes. Worn out with love. On the last day of my life, I hope I’m ready. Not ready like ready to leave
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