Death: He's sort of a funny friend. I used to think of him fondly, thinking he was an escape from reality. Thinking it would be an adventure of some sort. I would await the day he came knocking at my door. Sitting with you here makes me think of him a bit different. He isn't much of a friend now. In fact, he is more like a curse. A fear. Even more so, a regret. Sitting here makes me realize that.
Running in the streets playing tag with cars. Lying to the salesman, whistling on the edge of buildings. The past times I had with him I also had with you. Does this mean you're death, because if you aren't, who is? Is he a stand alone person or does he take form in the people we love? Why else would we die? There is no life without death, and you were my life. Life and death go hand in hand, just like we did. I may take some time away from you, because for the first time I realized we're in this mess of an afterlife because of you.
