My Final Plea

My Final Plea

This is my final plea as I leave this world behind—the world of my past, the world of noise and memory and human ache.

All I ask is that you let me go.
Completely.
In body, in mind, in spirit, in love.

Please, treat me as one who has already passed beyond. Not out of pity, not out of guilt, but out of reverence for what once was.

It isn’t anyone’s fault.
It’s simply that being bound to the world now brings only pain—an endless weight of sorrow, of solitude, of the kind of loneliness that deepens in the presence of others.

There is no hope left where connection used to dwell. What once felt like belonging now feels like a wound that will not close.

So I ask this of all who have known me, seen me, or spoken my name:
Do not look for me.
Do not reach for me.
Do not try to call me back.

For if you do, you might tear apart the fragile threads still holding me together. You might draw me back into the gravity I have struggled so hard to escape.

If you love me, let me fade.
Let my name dissolve into silence.
Let my memory become a soft, forgotten prayer.

Let me go, so I might finally rest.
Let me go, so I might finally be free.

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