You asked me if I'm afraid of dying. It was a few weeks ago, and it was just a random question that happened to pop out of your mouth. I told you that I'm not afraid, and I see it as just melding into the earth and becoming fertilizer.

But in reality, I am afraid of death. I'm afraid to die because I know that my spirit will still be here, and I don't want to have to look at you for the rest of forever knowing that I left you behind, and hurt you so badly. But I'm also afraid that I won't be missed; it's a lose-lose situation. Either you miss me and I feel guilty, or you don't and I know that I wasn't good enough for you in the first place.

I know that in the end, we'd eventually be reunited, but I know that you'd probably go on with life, and get a new signifigant other, and possibly start a family. Or if we were to already have a family, you'd all move on without me, and act as if I'd never existed.

I hope that if I were to die suddenly that you'd miss me, and keep a picture of me or something of mine that you might find useful, just something to remind you of me occasionaly.

But I know that I can only hope, and I can't tell you what to do or how to remember me or forget about me. I couldn't control it if I did die, and I couldn't control any amount of grief you might have, or if you'd grieve at all.