A Conversation With Death
Why do you do this?
Does it please you that my days are often spent in silence because of the people you took from me?
I want to tell you how selfish you are. How inconsiderate your timing and how empty a void you forcefully create. But I cannot. My grief overwhelms me, my tears betray me yet you say nothing. You look at me with empty eyes. Soulless. Unmoved.
You’ve had this conversation before, have you? My words are nothing new and my tears of no importance to your centuries of human betrayal. I call you a thief. Of time and love. You have taken the good parts of my soul and left me with emptiness.
“I will rather let you chase me until I humble myself to the inevitably of your arrival, and only then will I greet you as an old friend. As it should be, not as you do.”
You have watched over me late at night, hoping, I can imagine, that I will either be your next victim or that I will begin a state of mental decay that has engulfed many who have lost their loved ones. I dare not give you the satisfaction! Excuse my French, but you have fcked with the wrong one!
I will embrace this life and all it gives me, even as it rips the last pieces of joy from my wrinkled hands in old age — I will not go silently into that good night. Even as life lays me a bed by which you intend to pluck me from, I will not greet you with the poise you so arrogantly expect. I will rather let you chase me until I humble myself to the inevitably of your arrival, and only then will I greet you as an old friend. As it should be, not as you do.
Not as you who plucks the innocent, young and the brave from their humble lives, so early as if you revel in the pain and loneliness of others…or maybe you do. I can see that smile. Diabolical and unmoved. You have heard these words before, have you?
It does not matter to me if you have. I needed to say my peace as my tears were drying up. I dare you to sit there and ponder these words, let them stab your conscious if you have one, and may you be hesitant in stealing another life from me. I do not take kindly to being unsettled, I do not care if it is your job. Let my people meet you as one should — an old friend climbing into the arms of another, after many years of silence.
