Life Is Only Precious Because It Ends

Shefa'a Tawil

We stare at the hands. Are they mine?

They flit across the keyboard typing the words coming from our mind only pausing

When we once again lose our sense of time.

We experience the world through third person,

present but not truly there.

Awake, but not conscious.

Surviving, but not living.

We value honesty but, it seems as if our whole life is a lie.

When was the last time we could truly feel, our dear body and mind.


You understood this.


We felt it roll down our cheek.

We caught it as it fell off our chin.

We stared.

For the first time in over three years, we broke down.

We tried to make it stop, but it wouldn’t be pushed down.

We wonder. How are we in pain, when inside there is nothing that remains?

How are we crying, when the only thing we truly crave is dying.


You understood this.


We stare at the sky, are you there?

You were the only person that truly cared.

We realize that our effort in becoming whole now has an even greater tear.

The stars are the only things bright and strong enough to keep you contained.

They, like you, are beautiful and unmaimed.

You were perfect,

however your pet begs to differ.

You were so bright,

but the pet made you dimmer.


Didn’t you have it under control?


Our tears continue to flow like a river.


You understood us.


We watched you place the blue pill on your tongue.

The crevice that split the blue in half; the number 30 that was engraved in the corner.

We were used to this pill.

The way you said it made you feel better.

The way we know it was able to make you feel better.

How it is able to make the halves blur together, if only for a second.

We called it your pet,

because you always said you had it controlled.


But not that night.


We asked if you were okay, you were upping your usual amount threefold.

You smiled and laughed.

“I’m okay slime, I have it under control.”


    We said,

    “I love you.”

Because we knew that when we say “I,” you know we mean “we.”

    We let you go to sleep.


We remember everything about you.

The way your blue eyes pierced our soul.

The way they started clouding over when the pet started taking control.

The way we will never be able to see them again

Your pet killed you that night.


You never woke up.


We see our hands typing,

frenzied across the keyboard only pausing

to wipe the still streaming tears.

And we wonder,

for why aren’t you here?

We experience the world through third person,

present but not truly there.

Awake, but not conscious.

Surviving, not living.


You understood this.




For why does typing your name make us weep harder?


We promise that we will become whole again.

So when we finally obtain the death we so deeply desire,

we can tell you all about it.

How it feels like when it’s forever,

and ours.

Not how it feels when it blurs together for a second under control of the blue pill, with the crevice that separates it in half, and the number 30 inscribed in the corner.


We promise to tell you all about it.

How being whole feels.

When it’s drug free.


I love you.

I miss you.

I will never forget you.

Life is only precious because it ends. But to us, your life was precious all along.