Dear Death

I was human.

"He said, 'darling your looks can kill', so now I'm dead."

I can see him yet none if them can. Does it matter though? I've been seen my whole life, adored and loved by many eyes, but not hearts. They mold me into their desired form because to feed their fantasies was to strip me naked to the bones. Only he, who patched my shredded tapestry of a soul, who meld me back into my original form, and he who did not desire me like I did to him.

"Take me with you, will you? Isn't that what you came here for?"

'Eveyone has their own purpose', is probably the lamest quote to ever exist. Yet I knew we do. I knew that I have, had a purpose. I knew he too, have a purpose. I knew, yet my heart refused to accept it. Refused to acknowledge that my sole purpose was to be an object of their imagination. Vile and dirty imagination.

Like every other sinners, I had thought about gouging their eyes out. Craking their skulls open, frying their brain so that they can no longer doll me up in their imagination. So that I'll be unseen by their lustful eyes forever. But like every other human, I had the fear rooted deep inside my heart. The fear of the mortal law held me down from harming these sinful men.

And death was the only judgment my young mind could think of.

But now that I think about it, he was an object too. An archetype. When you think about death, he is the first image, thing, person– your human mind would show you. Humans are naturally drawn to familiarity despite chasing change in every day. He was the familiar change I wanted for my life.

He consumed my every waking days, morning to night. If I can't kill them then why not kill myself instead? I often wondered, will death change me back to my original form? To ashes? The more I drown in my own puddle of thoughts the more my desire grew to see him. I believed death was the only thing who could make me feel like I am human. That I was breathing, despite being objectified my whole life.

He didn't show until they had completely destroyed me. Mind, body, and soul. I weeped, slammed my heads to brick walls, jumped off the bridge, I tied ropes around my neck just so I could see him. But eventually I was banned from using suicidal devices, so I allowed their filth to infiltrate my pristine skin and body. I allowed them to play me like a marionette. I allowed them to satisfy their fantasies using me. Just so I could see him when this mortal body could no longer withstand the pain. The suffering only he, only death can end.

I never wanted any of this. This body, this hair, this skin, these features, this beauty was a curse. I hated my own folks all my life. I wish I was never born at all. I wish I had met him sooner. I could've suffered less. He said "Darling your looks can kill, so now you're dead." And I smiled.

Death was natural to all humans.

Because being human means to die inevitably.

And dying meant that I was human, too.