Rather than equivocating death, I have conceded that death has already bestowed its unrequited love upon me. Simply so, because though I still breathe, and whilst my heart still thumps, the mere essence which makes each of us has perished within me.
It is as if though I’m only being kept alive by a hypothetical respirator and though this hypothetical mechanisations is working tirelessly, what sense is the life that its saving. For that individual can no longer be happy, can no longer assimilate to usual locomotion, all that is left is his bodily mechanisations and, in actuality life has already left his body.
My body, however is too stubborn, too resilient to let go. Those few kindred beings around me who do care about me are likewise of the same order, not wanting to let me go.
I have already parted with my soul, my being and essence, my only hindrance is my body. I adamantly and anxiously await its surrender.