They have to go first, please.
Sometimes I get angry with myself for having held onto them for too long.
They kept me afloat when storms raged and aglow when skies darkened.
For considerable time I couldn’t have released them because they were effective life support.
I sustain myself now.
Fairness and pain no longer concern me.
Only inaction frightens me; I’m not so attached to breathing as fulfillment.
Sending them out to stand or die on their own may seem a strange gratitude.
But I am no reservoir.
I’m losing time and they’ve simply grown too many and too large to contain.
I have to give them their own lives.
I hope I get these stories out of me before I go.