His Second Heart
I crossed the final item off my list.
"Write a letter to myself."
In it, I wrote about the places I'd seen, the flavors I'd tasted, and the happiness I'd found during this brief month of freedom.
I told my future self that if there really was another life waiting beyond this one, I wanted to come back as a seagull, free to fly wherever the wind carried me.
On the last day of my life, the weather was unusually beautiful. The setting sun turned the ocean into a sheet of brilliant gold, so beautiful it looked unreal.