When Words Fail, Again

They say when we die, the brain gives us one last gift — a rewind of our best memories. Just seven minutes. Seven minutes of everything that once made us feel alive.

And when my time comes — when I lie on that bed with my last breath waiting — I know what those seven minutes will hold. It won’t be a grand success, a trophy, or a crowded room applauding me. It will be you.

It will be your smile, the way you laughed without holding back. The way your eyes softened when you were calm. The way time slowed when you sat next to me. Every silent conversation we had. Every moment I couldn’t speak but felt everything.

Maybe, in the story of this life, you were never mine to keep. Maybe fate was kind enough to let me meet you, but not lucky enough to let me hold you forever. Maybe I’ll watch you walk into a future where I don’t exist — your hand in someone else’s — and I’ll learn to carry that with quiet grace.

But on my deathbed, when the world fades and the noise dies, my mind will wander back… to you. To the first time I saw you. To the way you made even silence feel like music.

You may never know it, but you’ll be the goodbye I say with a smile and a tear. Because even if I couldn’t spend a lifetime with you — I got you in my forever 7 minutes.

— Written by Abi | TheAbiWorld.com