I don’t want to say goodbye and send you off knowing that your health is going to decline. I don’t want to say goodbye when I know that you have the same fear.
I want to say that you’ll have a fantastic time and be a fabulous doctor. But I’m too scared.
I’ve got to grow up. In sixty six hours, I’ve got to say goodbye. What will be, will be. I just hope that in the mass and the mess, you don’t forget the past few years.
I have no choice, I have to say goodbye. Practicing under my breathe isn’t going to make it any easier, but I can pretend that it might.
Living. Laughing. Loving.