Have you ever looked death in the eye. Did you notice how diseased, frail and weak it is? Did you notice how it couldn’t look you back in the eye? Did you see how it wanted to apologize, to say sorry? Did you notice, it itself was tired. Too tired. Begging for forgiveness. Fragile. Weak. Shivering. Trembling. Like an ill man, an old man on his death-bed. Like that woman it took the life of, that didn’t deserve to die so soon. Like that man, taking lunch for his starving twins. Like that giggling child, that had wonders to explore yet. Like that baby, that missed his first word by one second.
Did you see how death was as helpless as those people were when it visited them? The first, and the last time.
That was the curse of many death had ended up taking upon itself. The curse of not being able to die. The curse of having no options but to witness and absorb all the pains, the tears, the sighs, the regrets, the screams, the broken, fading dreams, the unspoken wishes to live one more second.
Did you notice how that was the worst curse something could ever recieve? You loathe death but do you feel the unbearable loathe it has for itself? Do you feel bad for death now? Do you see how powerful and yet so pitifully weak it is? Do you?