Becoming, Lucy

I wrote this in the first few hours after losing someone I loved deeply. A conversation with something I don’t understand but keep being forced to face.

Death. 
You’re a cruel friend. 

I’ve thought about you, a lot. 
I know you’ve thought about me too. 
But you never come for me, do you? 
You go for the ones I love instead.

Is this some sort of sick game to you?
Is it some sort of lesson?
I don’t need a lesson. 
Why do you take the ones I love?

I understand death better than most.
I know we live and then we die. 
But why do you take the ones I love?
Why do you not let them live?

Death.
I’m not sure you’re my friend.