DEATH, AN INTIMATE PORTRAIT
Daniel Fiorelli
she came at about 3:15 in the afternoon
rather early, I’d say
but then I really didn’t have any say in it
she whispered my name
her voice was like roses
I looked up, and she was smiling
she looked to be a young woman of twenty
her eyes, though, betrayed her age
this “young” woman, petite and fair skinned, had eyes as old as time
“Already?” I asked
she nodded
“But … it’s too soon.”
her eyes took on a look of sadness when I said that
and I felt a twinge of guilt
“I’m … I’m sorry.”
she took me in her arms, with understanding
and I laid my head on her shoulder
my eyes watered a bit, touched as I was by her comfort
after a while she lifted my chin, and
leaving my tears soaked into the fabric of her garment
I looked her in the eyes
“Are you ready?” she said, in that same delicate voice
“Do I have a choice?” I said
she chuckled at that, knowing that I was only joking
she pressed a hand to my heart
it fluttered at the touch
I suddenly felt very safe
then she kissed me with soft lips
a kiss that took my breath, and my life, away from me
and I thanked her as they left