“The fear of death follows from the fear of life. A man who lives fully is prepared to die at any time.”
― Mark Twain
I have an old friend, I haven’t met him yet but we are close, too close some might say. He comes to visit my friends once in a while, never calls on me though. I keep talking to him but he doesn’t answer, I think he gets angry whenever I call upon him, cause I keep talking to him but he never answers.
I love him you see, I want to go away with him but he never takes me with thou. He just pokes me every once in a while, just to give me the rush, to remind me that he is there, that he is waiting too, that our love will never change …
But sometimes that is just not enough. Some times nothing is enough but him. I want to go away with him. Nothing else will calm this fire in me. With him and only him lays my ultimate serenity.
But my time has not yet come, every once in a while I buy a one way ticket to join him and never come back, but I never make it to the train. It always leaves without me, it takes the ones I love, and leaves me behind with the envy chewing on my soul.
Last week he took another one of them. Again … and I’m still here.
Amestrida and the blank pages 