A Conversation With Death

I met Death on a quiet evening,
not with a scream, but with a sigh.
It stood like a shadow I had always known,
never rushing, never late.
I sat and asked, “Why do you follow us all?”
Death looked at me, not cold, not cruel.
“I follow, not to harm, but to remind,” it said.
“Remind you that every breath has a weight,
and every heartbeat counts for something.”


I asked Death if it hated the living.
It blinked, as if surprised by the question.
“I do not hate,” it said slowly.
“I am part of the story, like dawn follows night.
Life gives, I take, but not without reason.”
I sat down, feeling the wind grow still.
“What reason is good enough to take a child?”
Death lowered its head and whispered,
“None that a human heart could carry.”


“Then why come at all?” I asked with anger.
“Why touch the kind, the young, the innocent?”
Death paused and pointed at a fallen leaf.
“Would it be better if nothing ever ended?”
“If the song had no final note?”
I didn’t answer, I couldn’t.
Because part of me wanted forever,
and part of me understood the beauty of endings.
Silence filled the space between us.


“Are you afraid of being hated?” I asked.
Death tilted its head as if thinking.
“I am not here for love or praise,” it said.
“But I do wonder why people run from me,
yet think of me every day.”
I thought of all the times I feared dying,
even when life was good.
“Because you feel like a thief,” I said.
“And no one wants to be stolen from.”


Death smiled, not with lips, but with stillness.
“I do not steal,” it replied.
“I arrive when the story runs out of ink.”
“But some stories are cut short,” I said.
“Some never finish their first chapter.”
Death placed a hand over its chest.
“And it breaks me, too,” it said softly.
“But I am not the one who writes the story,
only the one who closes the cover.”


As the sky turned pale and dark, I stood up.
“Will you come for me someday?” I asked.
Death nodded gently, no threat in its motion.
“And will it hurt?” I whispered.
“Not like you think,” it answered.
“It will feel like a hand reaching for yours,
and a voice saying, ‘You can rest now.'”
I looked into the emptiness where it once stood,
and for the first time, I did not feel fear.