A letter to my best friend

You do not have the right to leave me. Do not use my birthday as a stake for when it’ll be over. Don’t you fucking do that.
It’s not fair. We have plans. I don’t want to talk about you in the past tense. It isn’t something you can take back.
I don’t think I could handle that call. The one that says sorry. The one that’s been perfectly crafted for every person.
I don’t want to find out you attempted, run off to your hospital and have someone walk out of those doors holding the information that i’ll never see you again.
I don’t want to go to that funeral. I don’t want to buy those flowers. The purple ones I’ve seen in stores, the ones that made me think of you. The ones that caused me to breakdown when I got home. The ones that made me think too much about the future you want for yourself. I don’t want that paper airplane tattoo to be a memorial.
I don’t want you to go. Ever