I live in two worlds, the World of the Living and the Fields of Death. I cross from one to the other, constantly, as I hear the call.
If I don’t answer the call, I start to fade away. I am not fully alive in the World of the Living, I lose that godlike endurance that you can only attain after you tasted the coldness of death. I am like a ghost, wandering, questioning if I ever had a form, a shape, an existence.
I need to answer the call. Every single time. I need to go to the Underworld, to speak to those that have left, to those that you don’t see, to those you shed your tears for. I cannot let go. Of anybody. Ever.
But then I need to answer the call of the Sun, of the ones above. The ones that love, laugh, enjoy. I need to fill my veins with blood, put some flesh on my bones, and wrap it all up in skin. And then touch, hold, embrace. Fully experience that which I will need to let go, when the call comes.
The call might be for me, the call might be for the ones I love. But I have no fear, because no matter which one of us goes to meet Death, those fields I know very well. I know the way to, I know the way back. And I am allowed to cross the line.
That is the beauty of Plutonian life.