I write to you Death.
You've been in my mind lately, you've been so present lately.
I guess I've been always in such a rush to grow up, and now that I am, I'm feeling scared that there is not enough time.
Not enough time to LIVE.
I write to you Death because I want to let go of that part of myself that always questions,
that part of myself that always feels that needs to do more to be enough,
that minimizes and says "this is nothing", "that was nothing".... and demands more and more.
I need to be better, do better!!! Try harder!
The girl that gets scared and wants to run away cause she feels trapped.
I guess death, what I am trying to say is that I'll miss the feeling of a hot summer day when the sun just set, and the sky is wearing pastel colors, birds are flying and still singing even though it started to get dark. A fresh crisp breeze comes in with no invitation, bringing a wave of vitality and life. A soft yawn from mother earth plays very softly in the background, and you know.
I guess death, I am saying I wake up everyday knowing that it is another day, and even though there are uncertainties, I also created certainties.
Death, I just sometimes feel I haven't accomplish what I am here for, I am just getting a sense of what it is. And yes I know, I hear you saying that I am doing it already but you know me I need to do more, be more- do more to feel that I am more.
Let me tell you death, I want to let go of that and at the same time I don't.
I feel so much love from Mother Earth, I feel so much right now from people in my life and I just don't know how to repay. You see in my life, I had to repay, that's been the way.
So my dear Death, please teach me to feel the sacredness of this life at all moments, teach me and remind me the sacredness of my being that I don't owe anything and nobody owes me. That life is about being, and in that being we just provide to others and others to us- by simply existing.
My dear Death, coming to this life you are the only certain- there is no escape and yet I don't feel trapped.
