There was a time when I interviewed a woman,

Who had an illness fighting in her body yet so soothing at heart.

I was there to ask her questions without any empathy,

And feeling ashamed I didn’t know quite yet how to start.

How do you have the demon’s guts to ask a person,

Who can count their time that’s left.

Which moments they regret deeply in life,

And which moments were seemingly the best.

I didn’t know quite how to ask her,

How she knew such knowledgeable advice.

When I am given my whole life to live,

And she’d only gotten a slice.

I was anxious she would judge me,

For wasting minutes of her last ever time.

So I asked her just one question,

If only I could get her moments back with a dime.

I asked her what it felt like inside,

Knowing so soon that you will die.

And as she thought about her answer she looked me in the eye,

Finally speaking “I might know my time is ending,

But pity for you is really all I’ve got,

Since I wake knowing that I’m dying,

But you wake pretending you’re not.”