DEATH - by 𝑫'𝒙𝑪𝑬𝑳𝑳𝑬𝑵𝑻 ™ ✍️🥇

When I was little,death was a wordI did not understand. They told me someone had died,and I thought they had travelled. Maybe somewhere far.Maybe they would come back. Nobody told mesome journeys have no return. I thought death was for old people.People with grey hair.People whose stories were already long. I was a child.What did death have to do with me? Then I grew.And somewhere between childhoodand becoming who I am, I understood. Death meansyou don't see them again. Not tomorrow.Not next week.Not when you are ready.Never. I began to watch people leave.Friends.People I knew.People I loved. And every time,death became a little more real. It is strangehow one word can be so smalland carry so much pain. Death.I am afraid of it. Not because I thinkI can escape it.I know I cannot. I am afraidbecause there are peopleI am not ready to lose. My parents, first.I want my father to grow old.My mother too. I want them to sit one dayand look at their childrenand say, “See what we have raised.” I want them to tastethe fruit of their sacrifices. To see the dreamsthey prayed over us become real. I want to surprise them.Celebrate them.Give back to them. So I pray,let my parents live long.Very long. Then I think of myself.Yes, myself.I want to live too.There are still things I want to do. Dreams I have not touched.Promises I have not fulfilled.A life I am still building. I am not ready to leavea story that is still being written. Then my brothers.My sisters.I want us to grow old together. To sit somewhere someday,laughing about the children we used to be. And one of us will say,“See how far we have come.” See what we did for Mama.For Papa.For the family.I want that day. And then my friends.The people I have laughed with,suffered with,made plans with. The people who carrypieces of my story. It scares methat one day,one of us could simply be gone. Because how do you preparefor someone you still have plans with? How do you say goodbyeto someone you were still telling,“We will do this someday”? Tomorrow is such a confident word. We say itas if it belongs to us. I will call you tomorrow.I will see you tomorrow. But tomorrowhas never been a promise.Only a possibility. Maybe that is what frightens me most.Not death itself,but all the lifethat can end before I am ready to let it go. The people.The laughter.The plans.The ordinary daysI never thought I would miss. So I pray.For my parents.My siblings.My friends.Myself. May God give us time.Enough timeto grow old. Enough timeto become what we dream of becoming.Enough timeto look back and smileat how far we came. Because death does not carehow much you have left to do. It simply comes.And perhapsthat is the hardest truth. We are all livingwith an appointmentwhose date we do not know.I know mine will come.But not yet. I still have too much love here.Too many people.Too many dreams.Too many tomorrowsI am still hoping to see. So, God,not yet.Let us grow old first.Let me finishwhat I started. And when my time finally comes,let it find mehaving lived. Not perfectly.Not without mistakes.But fully. Until then,I want to live.

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