I hated life,
Every day I followed a peculiar routine,
Annoying the deity of death.
I’d tug at the hem of his cloak,
My mortal eyes scanning his hollow visage.
“When will I die?”
I’d ask him, grinning.

He would sigh heavily,
“Not yet,” he’d reply,
His tone cold and clipped,
But his words never deterred me.
I’d trail behind him,
Talking endlessly about my day,
Uncaring, unbothered.

The cycle continued,
Until, one day, it stopped.
I met someone—a man,
Ordinary,
Or so I thought.

He seemed born from flowers,
Radiant, vibrant,
A character painted with sunshine and bloom.
He filled my void with hope,
Colouring my days in vivid hues,
Replacing my monochrome despair.

What was...