There are deaths we do not come home from

Photo by Reza Hasannia on Unsplash

“Not all dead bodies come home in body bags.”
~ Andrea Gibson

The day before I left Lagos for Abuja,
while we walked together for the last time
& you laced my fingers with yours
I almost told you something

how the feel of you makes me feel alive;
like I can live
like I can learn how not to die every day I wake

like you can love me wholly
love me alive
love me alive enough to love you more than you can

so when you asked what I was thinking
I smiled and said I was going to miss you
I said I wasn't going to forget about you.

"You must write to me."

I will, I said.

I didn't mean it, you see
I didn't mean to break your heart that way
but the day she left was the day I died
and I didn't know how to tell you
your love was a wasted effort

I didn't know how to tell you
that you were in love with a dead person

I didn't know how to tell you
that even though I loved you,
I loved her to death

and she died.
I lived.

I could never forgive myself
for living while she died

I could never forgive myself
for wishing you died instead of her

I could
never
forgive
myself

for living
inspite of her