Death
I can always feel his breath down my neck.
Is it going to be me, or is it going to be someone else?
I feel his eyes cast at me when I laugh with my friends, talk to my parents, call my grandparents.
I hope he’s generous enough not to allow me to feel grief. I’m always anticipating grief. It’s a grey, cold feeling that haunts everything I do.
I am going to die at any given moment, it’s inevitable. The tragedy is that it won’t occur. That I don’t know when. That I don’t know who’ll die first.
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My grandparents, or a close friend, or my sister, or my aunt. My uncle, my favourite teacher, my neighbour, my doctor. My baby sister.
My friend didn’t know when her baby sister died.
It haunts me, I don’t want to experience grief. I’d rather be grieved.
I envy the dead all the time.
I just want to take the quiet, honourable exit. Be on good terms with God, with myself, with my friends and family before I leave. I’m on good terms with them all right now.
I don’t fear death, nor does he startle me. I long for him to make me the picture in someone’s wallet, I long for him to take me when I’m still kind and strong and compassionate and caring.
I long for him to take me when I haven’t watched him steal someone from me. I long for him not to come a time when I’m distant with God, when I’m angry at my parents or cruel to anyone in my life.
I can always feel his breath down my neck, and I long for his cold arms pulling my soul softly.
