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I wish for a simple death, yet I cannot help but consider the battlefield or hospital. Whenever I gaze deeply into your eyes, it may only mean that I will die once more. 

Despite our combined efforts, as we labored together as one long ago, my illness has caused me to become weaker. Some may see me as less than what I once was, and this is a natural effect of aging.

We reminisce about how things have changed, including the grey bandages and gentle squeezes. As you watch me, now pale and yellow, I convulse and jerk uncontrollably. However, you hold me still until I am at rest, and although grateful, I do not wish to die in this manner. 

If the roles were reversed, would you allow me to suffer? Each time you bring me back from the edge, I face my fate alone, and I can see the surprise in your eyes. 

I feel the warmth of the sun briefly before my life slips away, and you hold on tightly until the end. It is only when the bright light dawns on you that you realize what I have become.

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