When I get to Heaven, I hope the first hundred years I may only sleep. I pray I will see you, yes, and that your hand will lay on my head and stroke back my hair. That you will understand, say "You are so tired. Just rest."
That you will know that I am only dust. The grass that fades away.
Let there be moonlight, and stars.
Please don't be disappointed.
This was a battle, wasn't it? And not just a sad trail of missed opportunities and wrong turns? Tell me I fought valiantly. Even if I lost.
Stroke my hair from my forehead, please. Tell me I served you. Tell me I did well.
I hope I did well. I hope