Everything You Ever Loved Will Die
Everything You Ever Loved Will Die Like It Was never There To Begin With. This is what was gifted to us at birth. That and we all get to die to someday. What the is this? Why? No one will remember me after six months. I need to be immortal.
Here's the poem.
My parents passed away ten years apart,
and both of them knew I was an alcoholic when they died.
I wish they could see me now—
happy, sober, accomplishing more in months
than I once could in years.
I’m grateful for the strength others lend me every day,
but still, a quiet sadness lingers.
A part of me will always feel I failed them.
Now, in middle age,
I finally have the chance to begin again.
I want to listen—really listen—
to make others feel seen,
to make them glad they took a moment
to share their day with me.
I want to love my brothers and sisters,
to make them feel safe and welcome
in my presence.
These are simple things,
ordinary moments of kindness and connection—
but they’re treasures I never knew
until I got sober.
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