I do not fear death. I fear a life not lived.
To feel the hot, melting silver of tears and the warm enticement of laughter,
To be ripped apart from the inside out by the icy shards of a broken heart,
To play music and feel the notes resonate through your body and whip up the quiet soul into a wild frenzy,
That is living.
To move through life by merely drifting without purpose, instead of chasing after dreams,
To never pick up a book, and pour through the pages indulging in the beauty of language,
To blindly follow the shallow conventions of today, without realising the exquisite wonders of the past,
That is not living.
Death is a long, undisturbed sleep, an eternal peace.
A life not lived is looking without seeing, hearing without listening.
So what is there to fear in death?