​”Because I could not stop for Death- He kindly stopped for me-” -Emily Dickinson  

Death and I have always known each other well. Kindred spirits cut from the same cloth, yet destined all the same to that mortal dance. That is, until the music ends and I stop. 

It’s what we all do, eventually, stop for death so he can take the last lead. Death has always stopped for us all. Stopped and watched as we twirled around dance floors, cried in theatres, and shouted in outcry, Death has always been there. Patiently watching, and never fully included until the last moments. Unless you take the time to hold out your hand. 

It’s interesting, to have a relationship with him. In younger years romantically, and tragically together as only youth can handle, that grows into trust, maturity, and always a slight undertone of fear. 

You’d think Death and I wouldn’t get along. I spend my days pausing final songs, repeating the tune again and again, disrupting his relationships. The way we dance you’d think we’d hate each other, but that was never the case.

I love him, as he me, and we laugh on cars and in city streets because it’s beautiful and serene. Immortality forgotten in Emily’s carriage long since passed and I wonder, at times when it’s silent between us, if he misses those who refused to stop for his existence. 

Death waits, patiently and carefully, and cries beautifully. He and life always placed in opposition by those too scared to stop for a chat. And while the final dance is all his own, the music never fades. 

Death could not stop for me, so I stopped for him, and eternity stretched languidly in the seat as faint notes drift in the car.