Death, who kindly guides me

Take my hand, he said to me. You will be taken care of, he said to me. The path you are about to embark on is long and frightening, but I will guide you.

This is a beginning, I promise. I'll stay with you, I promise.

The road had started to curve and it was slick, I remember that much. But it doesn't really matter now.

I took his hand.

You should know that I was angry. If I had the strength I would have pulled him down and left him running. But he was kind and it was dark. It wouldn't be fair to take it out on him. It's not his fault, not really. And who knows what would await me if I didn't have him by my side. 

The trees are bending over and reaching out for me. The branches are whipping and scratching. My head is beginning to ache and my body is beginning to grow weak. I look to him and search his eyes. He smiles that sympathetic smile and squeezes my hand. And then I know. 

He was always there. Guiding, watching, waiting. The realization knocks at me and I turn his face towards mine. I am reflected through him and I see now that he really is lovely in a heartbreaking sort of way.

I'll keep my hand in his and his hand in mine and he will guide me and my feet will follow. And it will be enough. It always has been.