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English Student Jun 2013
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?
English Student Feb 2018
Sometimes I remember being in love with you
so vividly
that I can still feel the warmth of your breath in my ear as you whisper that you love you me too.
The slow sweep of your lips down my back is ever present

And I catch my breath a little.

— The End —