Death is horrifying because it is inevitable and utterly final. It is the natural culmination of every embodied being, no one can live on forever.
I guess I sort of wished for a longer time to be spent with you, but your frail little body tells me there’s not much time left in you. You wheeze when you breathe, your whole body shaking in my hands. You try meekly to climb out of your cage, to search for something new to play with, but your body fails you and you think to yourself: maybe another time.
But that’s just it isn’t it? There isn’t much time left.