Dear Death

Dear Death,

We're old friends, you and I. I've walked and flirted and danced with you but you've yet to take me home with you. Instead you leave me here with Life. Do you know what he does to me, Death? The tortures he pains me with, the horrors he's inflicted on me? Why must you leave me here with Life? He has tormented me nonstop for years. Each day he makes me long more and more for your embrace, my dear friend. Why do you withhold your sweet rest from me? When will you allow me to run into your arms? Life says that I must remain here with him until he is ready to release me, but I know you can override his wishes if you so desire. Even I could override his wishes if I but had enough courage. I think that I will have that courage soon. Soon I will be clasped in your waiting arms, sweet Death, and leave this wretched Life behind forever.

Yours,
Threnody

Note: no freaking out, dear readers. The crisis that inspired this missive is past and gone. But upon finding it hiding in my journal I could not but share it with you.