I keep waiting for it.
Any day now.
I never thought it would end like this.
Or maybe I did.
I’m waiting for the death date.
I hope it doesn’t come any time soon.
Every fiber of me wants it to get better.
Most of me knows it won’t.
But a small strand of hope still waits.
Hope that you will wake up tomorrow and care.
The care that I know you don’t feel.
But you do all the same, according to that strand.
I keep digging, deeper than ever before.
But I’m not getting any farther than the surface.
And you’re not letting me through.
This one person effort just isn’t enough.
I need your help too.
It’s like you don’t even see it.
Take off the mask.
And I promise to take off mine.