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 and wait.

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

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 kilometres across the continent for this exact moment. Carefully, I did my skincare, brushed my teeth and put on something nice.
Everything told me that I was about to make a wrong decision, but making mistakes is part of life. I drank the whole bottle and went to the pool.

Dubai, this new city that I’m in, where the air seems fresher and my skin feels darker than usual. I won’t wait for long. I hope. And that’s perfect. I hadn’t considered slashing fmy wrists or hanging. None of these options seemed appealing. Despite the fact that suicide demands one thinks of themselves first and others later. I was prepared to do all I could so thatmy passing would cause little upset and if possible not be deemed as suicide. I know, I know, even in my last breath I refuse to lose face.

Instead of diving in, 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.

Life is always a matter of waiting for the right moment. 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.

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 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 swept away by the first person to treat me a little differently. Just as well as he doesn’t know where I live in close proximity that way he can lose me without having to blame himself. 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. 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!