The only thing you can be sure of is death

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Vester Voldgade, Copenhagen. Photo by Canan Marasligil. 

So you say. The only thing you can be sure of is death. 

Who are you? 

I see the transparence of your words. I see you hide behind that naked tree. It does remind me of death, yes. You're whispering to me. I hear you. I see you. You tried to remain invisible, to catch me off guard, but I was looking closely. 

Is it chalk you used? Or did you engrave your words into that wall? Did you know the tree would show up and steal your show? Did you know the tree would give meaning to your words? 

I know, you didn't mean to scare me. I'm not scared. I know we are all going to die. 

Is it fear you're expressing? Or are you just making a statement? Both are fine with me. I get you. I feel you. 

I wonder if you're still there. Google Street View seems to say you aren't.  

No matter what. I know you're not alone. The tree is embracing you every day as the sun caresses you. 

As for I, I am here now. And you too, stayed with me.