“We’re all going to die,” she said softly.
“It all ends so soon, just like our days off from work,
Sunday never lasts long enough.”
She would often say things like this and become sad.
“We’re all going to die, and there’s nothing we can do,
No matter how much fun we have, it all ends and ends terribly.”
I would never say anything to her when she became like this,
It was best to let her become quiet and sit in the dark
Like someone mourning every loss, and only the shadows give comfort-
But that comfort is nothing at all. Like eating ice for hunger.
Her friends were there once when she said this and they became angry.
“Why do you have to say that?” they wailed,
“We know we are going to die, what good does talking about it do?
Life isn’t just sadness; you’ll never be happy when you get like this.”
I watched her face become darker still as they responded.
When they left, she turned to me “They don’t really understand
How things change.” I listened to her quietly again, as I always did,
Like someone listens to the sea.
“They don’t think about things properly.
You aren’t you, what you were at six is not you at thirty,
That six-year-old is dead.”
“But it’s still you,” I answered.
She shook her head, “No, that is gone.”
I did not see her friends again for a long time,
We are all on the same path,
But for her to be reminded of death
Was to ensure she made special effort
To look at things carefully and truly love.