Ms.

I want you to kill me.
Not today, not tomorrow.
The day I turn 100 years young.
I want you to kill me.
Spit out everything you loved about me and hated about me.
Tell me the things you didn't like and the things you wish you could have experienced.
Tell me how much you loved me.
Tell me how much I meant to you.
Not today though, nor tomorrow.
Wait until I turn 100, Please.
Then kiss me one last time,
maybe I will live another hundred.
There is a reason for this death.
There is a reason that I love you, yet I will never know the reason.
I'm ok with that.
but who am I to speak?