Dead eyes. Dead skin. All gone and yet breathing the same air. I taste the stench on my tongue. You know how Death smells sweet? Noxious. I’ve grown accustomed to its presence. I don’t want to live without it, it seems. Cannot live without it. It eats my food. It plays with my kids. It gives itself a new name, tells me it loves Me, promises me everything On a daily basis, Then it takes it all away again. And again and again. It teaches me all about real sorrow that way. Birth. Death. Resurrection. Despair. But do I need this lesson again? Here we go . . .