Death, they said, is a known figure.
Death is an old friend even. So they looked at me with those eyes that go deep into the universe.
Death is a recurring character with a beautiful face. A lending ear with a warm hug.
Death's always been here, with me. They said.
Close, around looking over my shoulder, pointing at things that might have scaped my eyes.
Death has beauty in their eyes, you know?
And a smile that shines over darkness.
Death speaks to my ear with soft words and comfort, put their hands on mine and say the things that I need to hear.
And even when we talk for ours on end, when I cry, when I lurk into the darkest corners of myself, Death remains calm, smiles softly and says: not now.
Death kisses my forehead like I'm a child, their child, and puts me to bed in the soft embrace of their soothing lullaby.
I wake up a new, they said, I go around in the world. I live.
Death looks at me from afar and we speak again like the old friends we are.
The old friends we'll always be.
Until death finally do us part.
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