I speak of Death as if talking about a friend, yes, a devoted friend who walks beside me, sometimes behind me or up ahead, leading the way, yeah. You think I am weird. Ok, I spend a lot of time alone, yet I am not lonely because Death keeps me company.
Don’t take me wrong, if I address Death as She. Sometimes she’s female, sometimes he’s male, and often has no gender at all. Death is whole soul. Methinks I’ll speak to it. To enquire if it’s true he only exists as a light divine…
I will ask him for a dance: “Yeah, dance with me. Right here, right now, on these white-tiled floors surrounded by white painted walls… Lie beside me at nightfall when black satin sheets harbour dreams of soaring eagles, teach my spirit to ride zephyrs over mountains covered by eternal snow fields …”
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