It’s almost time. I’m ready… Take me to church.

I’m too young to die— words that have never held water. I close my eyes.

One need not be a chamber—to be haunted—
One need not be a House—
The Brain—has Corridors surpassing
Material Place—

I’ll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife

At 9.15pm, that day, I’d decided that the moment to end my life had—at last!—arrived. I flew over Scorched Savannahs, towered sun dunes, traversed thousands of miles across the continent for that exact moment.

I think of all the things that have been said about me… that I’m beautiful, strong, an enigma. That I’m a seductress, proud, that I am of a sullen disposition with a quarrelsome temper. That I’m an innocent looking good girl with a pliable nature, naïve even. And I wonder, how can I be all these different things at once?

All the same, “suicidal” is a strong word to have attached to you. It has a smell this word, musky and oppressive. Like dead flowers in a vase. I know, I know. Surprising, but even in the face of death I refuse to lose face. Carefully, I did my skincare and put on something nice. Everything told me that I was about to make a wrong decision, but making mistakes is part of life.

Of course, I had downed a bottle of Cognac. I suppose we can say I wanted some company. The road to death is quite lonely. Lonelier even, in the new city I was in. The air seemed fresher and my skin felt darker than usual. I won’t wait for long. I hoped. And that’s perfect.

Drowning, my poison of choice, I decided to take it pole pole, because there is always a gap between intention and action, and I wanted to feel free to turn back halfway.

Gliding through the pool on my back with fearless perfection. Movements languid; breathing metronomic; pace effortless. I mean, I completed lap after lap with such ease of motion that the only word that would come to mind to whoever will watch the CCTV footage is natural. A natural-born swimmer. With every passing minute however I was more convinced.

Offer me that deathless death

I can do it! Master the art of time. Taking deep slow breaths hoping to invoke death. Hoping that water will somehow manage to fill my lungs fast. I’ve always been a patient lady. I wondered how long the angel of death will take…

Contrary to what one expects, that night , I was more conscious of my soul than usual. It didn’t say anything to me, didn’t criticize me or feel sorry for me. It merely watched me.

I believe in God, but I’m a hypocrite. Most nights, I pray. I pray for a way out.

I have no particular interest in architecture, but, the more I looked at it—the twin tower. The more I studied its fine vintage beauty, the more I felt proud of my self. Recognizing that I had been able to do this, that I finally had courage despite the fact I wanted to leave this uneventful life: what joy! Now that I was there, drifting in and out of consciousness, glad to have gone all the way and bored because I didn’t know what to do with the little time that was left. I let my mind wonder to him.

I wondered what you’re doing. “Chasing paper”.

I would like to believe that I am in love with you. Someone, if we’re being honest, I do not know and who didn’t figure in my plans. I let myself be swayed by the first person to treat me a little differently. Just as well as I don’t know where you live in close proximity, that way I can lose you without having to blame myself. Words intended to appease my soul. A dying soul.

I wanted to, I really did but it’s unnatural to not crave air. My body demanded it; my mind said I need it. Life…most times, it feels like something borrowed. Something I don’t need but was forced onto me, and because I know of nothing else, I cling on to it and beg for more days in my life. Eventually, I broke to the surface, gasping and unable to deny myself that basic need of air. Of love. Of fierce desire.

Good God,

Let me give you my life!