"At times, I sit and look at myself in the mirror. And I wonder how it would feel like when I am finally dying. And it scares the living daylights out of me, so to speak," she pauses to take a sip from the cup of coffee threatening to shed its spiralling heat. "I feel myself choking up. I can't breathe. And I feel hot tears stinging my eyes." She looks up at me with eyes which seem half-curious, half-doubtful. "How do you speak of death so easily?"
I look down at my cup of tea, and smile.
"Death? Death doesn't scare me, love. The idea of never knowing how certain people are holding up does."