Death is a lover.

As I lie here, basking in the heat of my bed with the one I love, I think about the laughter we share and the moments between the stress of life.

I think this is what Death will feel like.

The sweet embrace of a lover as they touch my knee with absentmindedness. The feeling of sweat-soaked skin touching my own. The sound of laughter wiggling in my eardrums.

I tell them I love them because they remind me of Death.

The moments before you go are told to be cold, and then suddenly filled with a sense of warm and fuzzy calm.

Is that Death? Touching my shouler and petting my hair, coaxing me into the afterlife?

I would hope Death would look like a lover.

I'd be terribly afraid to go alone.

How kind of Death, to be there to walk with me into the unknown.