When It’s Time To Die

When it’s time to die, I don’t want it to hurt. I’ve heard people say that life flashes before your eyes in the final moments. If that’s true, I hope the pictures are soft, the memories kind. I hope the sharp edges of my mistakes have faded, leaving only the good parts behind—the laughter, the love, and the light I was lucky enough to feel.

I think about the people I’ve loved and wonder if they’ll remember me. When it’s time to die, I just don’t want it to hurt them. I don’t want their hearts to carry the weight of my leaving. Instead, I hope they can smile through their tears, remembering the way I tried to make them happy, even when I didn’t know how to make myself whole.

When it’s time to die, I don’t want it to hurt. I want it to feel like falling asleep on a warm summer evening, the world wrapping me in quiet. I don’t want to fight against it or feel afraid. I hope it comes like a gentle hand, leading me to somewhere soft, somewhere safe.

I wonder if I’ve done enough—if the little things I’ve said or done have mattered at all. When it’s time to die, I don’t want it to hurt to look back. I want to know that even if I couldn’t fix everything, I tried. I want to believe that even the smallest kindness was enough to leave a mark on this world.

When it’s time to die, I just don’t want it to hurt. Maybe that’s what we all want—to leave this world without too much pain, without too much fear. And maybe, if we’re lucky, we’ll take with us the love we gave and the love we received, and nothing else will matter.