“Simple. Since when is death simple?” “It is but the simplest. Effortless. Certainly something we think about often, but we do not indulge it unless the nights are long or suddenly our skies feel grey or our heart feels empty. The thought of death is passing. Happiness is passing, too, but we chase it. Persistently. Constantly. We dream of it. Though we dream of death, too, but not because we want it.” She chewed on her lip. “Unless it is one of the above again. It does that…death does that, it chases us instead, even if it is in our dreams. And when we wake up, we decide to not think of it.
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