This is the penultimate poem in a thirty day challenge-- not the last poem, but the next to the last. But it could be the last, just like today might be my last day or the next breath might be my last. I hope not, but anything's possible. We tend to avoid thinking those things. We don't want to face the fact that all things come to an end, the good and the bad. When I mention a future time when I'm not here, you grimace and tell me not to talk like that. I'm not trying to depress you, but facts are facts. The last time will come, whether we want it to or not, whether we think about it or not. I could argue that the world might be better if we all thought it was our last day. We might say the I love yous we left taken for granted, or try something we've been afraid of because there was nothing left to lose. We might realize the pointlessness of anger and grudges and let them be forgotten. What might be accomplished if we knew it was our last chance? I hope this isn't my last poem; I feel like I have more inside me waiting to be set free, but as I said before you never really know. This is the penultimate poem, and I hope it won't be the last, but just in case I want to say you're important to me, you make me happy. If I hurt you, I'm sorry. If you hurt me, I forgive you. I love you, Let me say that again—I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.
~Elise Skidmore ©2022