The first time I saw you was when I was a small, itty child with only a few strands of hair on her head. I believe that was when I was at my great grandfathers death bed, whom I don't even remember his face. But I remember yours. So pale, and bony, and empty, and put-upon. I've never known someone to look so sad. And how, you may ask, could I see emotion in your empty eye-sockets, and skinless face? If I may tell you the truth, I have no idea. I just had a feeling when I saw your skull, and it wasn't fear like I've heard the people around speak of you, but it was sadness. A great, endless sadness as great and abysmal as the universe. That is what I felt from you.
The second time I saw you was when I happened to be taking a walk to my friend's house, and there was a terrible car accident right in front of me when I turned the corner that had barely happened. I was shocked by the moving smoke, and was paralyzed in place by a little blood I saw in the front window, implying someone's immense pain. I saw you there. Right by that window. You had your back turned to me, but I could see something in that back. It was a back that had known so much pain. So much pain I could not even begin to imagine it. When you turned your head to me, I felt a jilt go through my entire body as you looked at me with those invisible eyes. It was impossible to describe, but I suddenly went forward without thinking and tried to touch you. You looked hurt. I understand why. Death is always supposed to be alone, never touching Life. You were startled and afraid of me. You were afraid for me. You faded away right as my hand almost touched your face. I heard about the man in the car window later, and it seems as though he died under hospital care.
I've seen you several times since then, on television, and once, wandering in a graveyard. I've always wanted to talk to you, to touch you, to befriend you, but each time it never worked. So I am writing this letter to you. "Hello, How are you?" "What is your favorite color?" "How is your
I know that as long as I live, I will never be allowed to touch you. This is my dilemma. I shall have to live my life like this, longing in loneliness all the while? It is a frightening thought. But I'm sure, that when I lie on my deathbed, or if I die suddenly at sea or something, that I will finally be able to take your hand and kiss your bony face till I cry tears of joy. So would you please, wait for me?
-With love,
a girl whose name you already know
