I love death. Death is beautiful. Death is a doorway, a portal to another life, a path we must walk to reach our next existence. I have been walking this path for longer than living memory. My soul is old—too old. In fact, I feel it may have gone senile. In each life, we are born with total amnesia about our past. Many of us go through a lot of lives playing out the same tragedy, only in different theatres, never actually finding out who we are. Some of us struggle, bit by bit, toward completion. Death has two faces depending on the state of mind of the individual about to die and on how death comes. I am in love with death, both the grinning skeletal thing that runs bony cold fingers up your spine and the beautiful midnight lady who calls in a sweet, alluring voice. Depending on who you are or whether or not I actually like you, I am both.