The city rushes past my window,but inside this car, time has slowed.I am not in a hurry—not for tomorrow, not for pain,not for answers I stopped seeking. I am tired.Not the kind of tired that sleep can fix,but the kind that sits deep in the bones,that comes from too many hospital rooms,too many needles,too many times saying, “Okay, let’s do this.” They say life is a gift.Today it feels more like a burdenI carry because they still want me here.And maybe that’s enough—to fight one more dayfor their smiles, their love, their hope. Yes, I am afraid to die.I admit it without shame.Not because I doubt heaven,but because I’m not…