Everything these days is about ***.
Our culture is a graveyard of copulating corpses,
and nothing means anything.

Sure, everyone says they're looking
for meaning in a godless and corrupted world,
but hardly anyone tries to find something real
in someone else. 

They let fear of rejection,
abandonment, or heartbreak hold them back. 

Love is unending, unparalleled, underrated.
We're all dying anyway, what's the harm in
being vulnerable once in a while?

Death and *** somehow always go hand in hand.
Maybe it’s because they're in love.
Death is patient; he has all the time in the world. 
He appreciates life more than anyone possibly could.

What if Death isn't an abrupt, agonizing conclusion?
Perhaps he simply leads us through a passage to some afterlife.

Death has seen everything;
he's seen beauty and suffering,
love and loss.

But he's intrigued by the concept of love.
While it often transcends our comprehension, he understands it.
He's a hopeless romantic
in a sea of violent, sexist, gun-obsessed sharks.

*** is amorous, enigmatic, gentle, and compassionate.
She's not the vile disease everyone sneers at in guilt-ridden judgement.

They teach their children to grow up feeling *****,
to despise themselves
for wanting to understand her, as if she’s a sin.

But she knows she's not a perverse thing,
she's a symbol of love everyone's destroyed and disfigured.
So she's damaged.
But she feels things more strongly than anyone else.

She is a connection between people
desperate to survive in a wasteland of intolerance and indifference. 

Death is perpetually wandering the world alone.
He’s afraid of anyone getting too close, to let someone understand
and embrace the depths of his chaos.

He’s unrestrained, a free spirit who has never needed anyone,
and doesn’t expect to. Who could ever love death unconditionally?
He disregards his own emotions, reacts dispassionately to avoid trusting anyone.
He’s numb but ultimately knows he doesn’t have to be.

When she looks into his eyes she can see decades of devotion, despair,
sanguinity, and hopelessness, and it breaks and mends her simultaneously.

So, Death and *** are undeniably drawn to one another.
Eternal fugitives hiding together from a decaying world full
of ignorant people who are disgusted by them, to avoid persecution.

They are complete opposites, but they balance each other out.
Death is a realist. He’s optimistic, but not because he has nothing to fear.
He’s aware that there is so much to be afraid of,
but he knows love is a risk worth taking. 

*** is an idealist, a cautious optimist cursed with depression.
She's obsessed with the expression of art and beauty, ardor and humanity.

However, she knows all too well the pain
of heartbreak and loneliness, and it often consumes her.
She is constantly used and abused, and her trust is worn thin.

But she gives everything of herself,
loves blindly and recklessly,
because she knows a life without love is a life
hardly worth living.

*** and Death can never die, they are
immortal lovers enduring the deterioration of the planet together.