There are moments in the day, when I sit and simply breathe. The act of inhaling and exhaling, fearing if I turn my attention to other things that my lungs will forget how to do their job. So I sit and just breathe. And stare. At the invisible thread of existance that binds each of us together. No matter how alone we feel. We are inevitably connected to one another. Like a spider’s web connecting two distant points of time. Without the spider, they would never meet. Never touch or feel or live. But when the death hand wraps itself around them, they’re eternally joined. Even if the connector is ripped apart, they will forever be two halves of one whole. And at the same time they will be dead. Dead because the person who they would have been. The person untouched by the silky smooth kiss of death will never be given the chance to live. She will have died long before she was born and whatever greatness she may have brought to this world will have been snuffed out.