I am like a budding three-year-old,

questioning the many wonders of life:

first asking why,

why must we all die?

Die, causing the pain to create

tears, which sprout out from an internal well inside

my loved ones’ tear ducts.

I take no delight in the feeling of an

endless stream of seasoned tears flowing down my cheeks,

unable to catch them all with a tissue, eventually

falling on my lap, and then my face following after it.

I will not be consumed anymore, not even for a single second

by this rythmatic, sancranized pattern of life expectancies

that demands that I need to prepare for

death. I will not, I will not do it.

I will not die. I will love, live, forever.