Don't make me die confessing

    I will do anything. I will clean your shoes, pack your bags, listen to your rumbles, kiss you on the lips, make love to you whenever, attend your wounds, stay awake to listen to your breathing, read your cheap poetry.

    Just do not make me say out loud what I did. Do not force me to pronounce the sounds required by the words. Do not push me to open my wounds and make me bleed just for you to comfort me.

    I will make you breakfast, lunch and dinner. I will walk our dogs. I will do our laundry. I will compliment you every time I see you. I will remember every little detail you share with me.

    But I just will not open my mouth to confess my truth. I will die, and it will die with me, by my side, in my very own casket. It will be with me when you cry at my pale and lifeless body, when you give the speech on my remembrance, when you cover me with dirt. It will never see the light.

    It is only mine.