One day there is life. For example, a healthy man, not even old, without a history of disease. Everything is as it was before, and always will be. Changed from day to day minding his own, dreaming only time that's still being prepared. Then, suddenly, it happens in death. A man breathes a slight sigh, leave the chair, and death. Its suddenness does not leave room for thought, does not give opportunity to the spirit of looking for words that might comfort him. Let us only with death, with as conclusive of our mortality. Death after a long illness we can accept it with resignation. The accidental death can be attributed to fate. But that a man should die without apparent cause, which die only because he is man, makes us so close to the invisible border between life and death to make us wonder about that side of it we are. Life becomes death, and it is as if the death had owned this life forever. Dying without notice. You know, this life is interrupted. It may be interrupted at any time.
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