LOVE | DEATH

Everything I Know About How to Live, I Learned from Dying over and Over Again

That’s what love does: It heals, even in death.

Photo by T from Pexels

I’ve spent the past few years falling in love with ‘dying’. Slowly, effectively — that’s the only way I could’ve ended up here. See, I always thought — no, I knew — that life and death are separate. That on one day you’re born and then on another you die. But now I know better. I know that everything touches everything else. That life and death are one and the same. That somehow, we are always alive and yet always dying.

I remember the first time I died. I remember it like it was yesterday:

Flames burning holes through my soul, the skin on my bones melting into nothing, fresh air failing to find my lungs, and me fighting to stay. I was dying and I was fighting. I was fighting for the right to my body.

Am I in hell? I panicked. Is this what hell feels like?

It didn’t make sense. I couldn’t have ended up in hell. I had prayed and given to the poor(I was ‘the poor’). How could I have ended up in hell?

He was my dream and I mean that literally. I aspired towards him. He was the clay out of which I was molding myself. There are people who have infinite depths of…