Bid Adieu To My Diary

I don't know who decided to make hospital beds so uncomfortable. Only if the doctors had thought to add some cosiness for a patient who had to stick to it for years in consecutive. 

I am weak today, probably the weakest till now. It has been 2 hours and I am still on the 4th line. I had puked on my food today, and a day before that I puked on my chappals, and day before that, in the washroom. I have been sinking since then. 

I know today is the last day that I picked up my pen, that I picked you up, that I will breathe. You and the other parts of you would, from tomorrow, be the sweet memory they have of me, the crushes I had, the kisses I felt, the nights I cried and the things I dealt. All those times I spent telling you about my Adrenocortical carcinoma, and days, when I felt, are my last ones, when mom could not anymore get angry on me and when dad tried to hide his tears. 

I had days staring at the ceiling and nights staring at the sky, I wondered how my city would have changed in these 5 years. They keep telling me I would be fine, all those false hopes, I have recorded in my mind. I hugged them for 5 whole minutes today, and asked mom to bring some cookies and dad is here, sitting at the window, preparing the song I want to hear. I wanted to spend my last day with all of you. I know it's the last day. 

I am smelling cookies right now, my mom is back, and she is so beautiful, dad is still working on his tunes. I could hear them, his soft, broken but mesmerizing voice.

I guess the pen will fall, it's been 9 hours now. 

I will miss you, all this writing. I could smell the cookies, I am listening to his voice, the pen is fal...