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Mistress Death

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Who is Death that we are drawn to her as a mistress whose allure is often mistaken for love? Her sultry breath warms the blood and makes us ache for intimacy, a rising need that only she can satisfy. Death’s whisper is carried on winds that span soccer fields and laughter that graces family dinners - a Siren’s call that lures the soul from the beauty of the present to the island of her presence. You see her face on the television screen and hear her raspy voice as sleep slowly descends, and there too she waits for you. The signposts of sunken ships, bashed against the jagged rocks of memories, are easy to sail past under the thrust of her gale. The Mistress leaves only nothingness in her wake, yet her slightest whisper stirs our hearts and silences our better judgment.  📷 - Unknown

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