Death.

Morbid topic, isn't it?

How many dead people do you know personally? That you remember?

I know of nobody. At least I knew of nobody until myself. After that, everyone whom I was able to converse with was dead as a doornail, like myself.

I guess I had lived a very sheltered life.

I don't know why there are so many people who hope for death and strive for death.

Death is actually a quite boring existence, if you could call it an existence.

Neverending days are spent just floating around the scene of death, examining every nook and cranny of which was before unknown.

It is arguable that death is very peaceful. After all, any disasters that do happen do not affect the dead.

But, the dead turns invisible under the rays of the sun.

We are everywhere. We are visible in extreme cold as a child's exhale of air or a chimney's smoke. We are the cause of the humid feel in the atmosphere during the warm days of 39 degrees Celsius.

We are the forgotten and the being forgotten. We are the ones who the living breathe in and out. We are the ones who have left the living.

We are the dead.