A Letter from Death

Sweet soul,

Now it not your time.

You have so much left to do, so much left to accomplish.

I love you also, grieving one, but it is not yet time for you and I to meet. Sometimes you may brush my hand, perhaps even see my face, but we will not speak for some time to come.

Don’t come looking; you will not find me. Don’t reach out; you will not even touch my palm.

I will come when you are ready.

When your time comes, I will appear to you; but only then.

Use your time wisely, not in self-minded sorrow. Only those that live the best they can will play the Game. Those that live searching for me will only have my swift “Good luck.”

That is all you have from me now.

Good luck.

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