I am more afraid of not living than I am of dying.
I often wonder if I were to lie on my deathbed, lips cracked and dry, breath wilted, body broken, torn and tattered, what thoughts may drift through my fatigue.
Will I surrender into my happiest memories, my dearest moments? Think of tender wet lips and sweet touch? Will I dream of the exquisite sensation and flavor of a hot mint chocolate mocha gliding down my throat, melting and warming from the inside out? Read more at Rebelle Society