No one knows when it knocks at your door and drags you out without permission.

All there is left for the living, are memories of you.

You live differently in every person you’ve met.

To some of them, you are you. 

Your truest self.

You lived. That’s what humans do.

For the rest, you’re a child of your parents. A bit more, but not less.

Death is a mean creature.

Because it stabs you from behind when you’re busy living.

That’s logical thought.

What if death is your savior?

It saves you from this cruel world.

It closes your senses from pain.

It gives you metaphysical form.

What if death is just a slave?

God asks death to drag you to Him.

God forces death to get you home.

God misses you, so He gets death to pick you up.