The Art of Dying

These are my last days.
These are my last moments.
These are the last pictures these eyes will see.
This is my last smile, to the last boy I will talk to.
The sun is brighter through my window, knowing it will die when I go.
And for this moment, this last fleeting moment, the world seems so perfect to me. So wonderful in all it's simple plainness I wonder why I wanted to leave it.
The pool I found boring, the pink sun kissed skin, splashes, all better than before.
The air is crisper, the time faster.
I love the art of dying.
But I love the art of living even more.


I, am happy.