Sometimes they intrude accompanied by waves of terror. Most times, though, they prance in unashamed as if they were an old friend, thought to be always welcome. What they do not realize is that I desire to leave them behind, like whispers lost in the wind.
"They" are those thoughts of death that visit me in all hours. They have no boundaries. They rustle through my thoughts while I deliver baked goods to neighbors. They pester me as I laugh - really laugh - with loved ones. They are a familiar companion during those cold drives in the rain. They prompt me to think of the notes I might write for friends if I leave. They make sure they are never forgotten, especially when I think I'm ready to move on.
They are a familiar poison a seemingly eternal toxicity an incurable disease a malignant influence and so many other things.
As much as I call them these things, though, there is one thing that I can never deny - that is: "They" are familiar and familiar things are not forgotten.