Exactly one month ago, before my flight to Tbilisi, I wrote about how every journey bring up the topic of death in me and how I think this is a very healthy thing.
Now, after my 32-hour journey, sitting at the airport in Sofia, I noticed the same thing.
I don’t want to add a lot to that right now, only an exchange of words I came across in a fantasy book I’m currently reading. So here we go. With no context or anything.
“Aren’t you afraid of dying?”, he asked Lyla.
Ahe looked at him as if it was a strange question. And then she shook her head. “Death comes for everyone.”, she said simply. “I am not afraid of dying. But I am afraid of dying here!”, she swept her hand over the room, the tavern, the city.
“I’d rather die on an adventure, then live standing still.”