Death is cold.
I am patiently awaiting my passing over, but I must have one thing before I a.
I have grown and have learned to become patient.
My soul has not passed over because I have not yet let it.
Though my awareness has grown, I retain the likeness by which I was last known: a girl of six years.
But when a body turns to dust before its time-when the mold is broken early-the spirit, like a casting, takes the mold\'s last form.
I would have been a beautiful woman by now.
Death is cold