…”When it comes to the end of life you have to have something to call your own,” Bill slipped his arm through mine.
The soft twill of his well pressed jacket warmed my bare flesh.
“Something you’ve come up with yourself,” Bill’s mate did likewise and we started to pace the white-tiled floor of my room in step.
“Something you’d like to keep but would like even more to give to the world, while at the same time denying that it has anything to do with you,” said Bill.
“When Death settles upon your shoulders, folds her wings around your body and rests her fore paws on the crown of your head,” put in Bill’s mate.
“It’s as well to have something to say for yourself,” continued Bill.
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