Close the door
I don’t want you to look at me. Close your eyes. Close the door. And walk away. But remember the time I made you laugh so hard you peed. Remember when you pushed me down the stairs and I broke my ankle, but it was okay because you reminded me of the time I locked you in the basement on Halloween. I want you to stand back when they pick my lifeless body up, put me in a bag, and carry me away. Stand back and wrap your arms around yourself, remembering how I hugged you too tight and kissed you sloppily on the cheek with the insides of my lips because it annoyed you. No, don’t remember any of that. You’ll be sad. You’ll want to cry. I’m sorry, I was selfish. I still am. I’ve always been. But you knew that, and you also know you’ve never been able to accept my apologies. So, instead, you can look at me. You can hate my dead body. You can cry. It’s okay, you were never selfish and I despised you for that. But now I love you for it, because you won’t be selfish. You won’t hate me. Maybe you’ll forgive me. You’ll listen to me, you’ll remember me, and you’ll cry for me.