Hi Baby,


I know you have questions. I know you feel the pain. I know exactly how you are and that is why I will not ask how you’re doing.

It’s lonely where I am and I would want nothing more now than to lie in your arms and never leave. I want nothing more than to feel your fingers coursing through my hair. I want nothing more than to lie next to you and pour my sugar on you like I never did before.

But you and I both know that it is now too late for any of that.

Do you miss me walking down the street with you; with our fingers interlaced? Do you miss dancing to slow music with me? Do you miss us riding our bikes to the boarders?

Do you miss seeing the stars dancing and twinkling in my eyes? I see you looking up at the sky at night. Looking for me. Looking to identify a constellation I’d like. I’m right here watching you.

The morning after I died I tried to wake up. I really did. I wanted so badly to wipe the tears from your eyes and tell you that it wasn’t your fault. What happened happened because it happened And nothing could’ve stopped it.

I see you in the kitchen, trying to fix breakfast every morning as you listen to playlists that I made for you. Baby why do you listen to that music anymore? All it does is make you cry. I see you squeezed up against that corner in the kitchen where we used to break eggs together for breakfast; I see your shoulders rocking, crying till your eyes swell up. I try to hold you, soothe you, ask you to move on but…

Damn it baby, get off that bike. I see you riding down Mombasa road at 3 in the morning doing 175km/h. That’s a bad habit. It got me killed. You have to stop it baby. You have to start taking better care of yourself. You have to start living again for the both of us.

Yes i remember that night. Nobody forgets the night they died. I remember us having that fight. I remember you yelling at me. I remember yelling back. I remember storming out of the house. The house where we were going to raise our babies. I remember going down to the parking lot. I remember seething with rage. I remember putting on my helmet and my protective gear. I remember getting on my bike. I remember Mombasa road cruising fast past me. I remember the lights, the cars, the wind, the speed… 175km/h going on 200. I remember losing control in my rage. I remember crashing into the back of a track. I don’t remember dying but I remember the darkness…

The morning after I died, I remember you coming to see me. I remember trying to hold your hand. I remember you screaming out my name, asking why I left you alone and what I expected you to do now.

I miss you. I love you. But you have to move on. On the day of my burial, you showed up and the way my family treated you killed me. Yes I know I can’t die more than I’m already dead but if you think dead people’s hearts don’t break, think again. I could hear mama blaming you for introducing me to bikes, I could hear pops asking why you showed up and my sister, well she practically ran you off and you honey, I don’t know if you were being brave and just fighting for me, but what you said was simply all I needed to hear. “You can cry for him all you want but when he cried, none of you was there. I wiped his tears. He and I, we stood together and we fought for each other. You can ran me out of his funeral, but you will never run me out of his life!!!” And you got on your bike, you and your leather jacket, and sped off.

I know you’ll never see or read any of my letters because my world and your world can’t interact, but I write you nonetheless hoping that somehow you’ll understand that my death is my death, not yours. You have cried enough for me; it’s time to stop. The years that I was your man were the best of my life. I’m grateful for that.

It is 3:30am as I write this letter. I see you on your bike, hair hidden inside the helmet, I feel the pain and the dark hole inside your heart. I smell the alcohol on your breathe. I can hear the song in your head. Our song. I can feel my presence in every fibre of your being. Love made us perfect you and I. But it wasn’t the death of me. Let it not be the death of you.

I love you. From drunkenness to sobriety, in speed or sluggishness, you’ll always be the one for me.



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