I thought it was beautiful when you first told me that you built me an altar upon which you would dance with me and lie with me, dine with me, drown with me.

It was absurd and I loved the unconventional beauty of it. How insane would one have to be to collect rock and wood, work tirelessly, and throw rose flower seeds into the rubble with blind hope that they would bloom?

Oh dearest, you are deranged.

I think I first realized this when I met you by the roadside picking up a bird with a broken wing. The cyan winged creature teetered helplessly and as if in pain as it tried to fly but to no avail.

You had looked so frantic trying to think of ways to help the little bird. You tore a small part of your scarf to wrap around the bird's wings and that is when I had been walking past you hunched on the ground.

I had backtracked when lightly concerned by the teetering and you looked up, slightly startled that I was concerned as well. Not many people stopped by the street to help injured birds after all.

Two weeks later, I met you along the same street carrying a bag of herbs. You told me you were an apothecary to which I smiled. What an interesting thing to be.

I asked you about the bird and you told me it had flown out of your window the week before.

Three weeks later I ran into you once more and you had asked if I would like to eat with you. I immediately said yes. You lived at the end of that same street.

We sat and shared a bowl of grapes in your garden. I confess that when you asked me to eat with you, I did not think we would have a bowl of grapes and talk about apothecary. You puzzled me a lot during those first days.

We sat at your garden table twice more and the fifth time I saw you, you asked me to dance with you. We drank wine and danced in your garden, your fingers against the fabric of my dress.

On that evening, I kissed you next to your chrysanthemum garden. You looked at me when we broke apart and I stared at you, the desire to consume you whole steadily engulfing me.

You invited me to eat twice more and whimpered my name each time.

I soon realized that our time was waning and I needed to leave before the illusion was shattered. I needed you to remember me as I had been in those first days.

And so time traveler, would you like to share a meal with me this time?

A last supper of the sorts. You see, we have come to an end of this jig. It is not the end but it is an end, before we begin this all over again in different bodies.

Let us fry some chicken and sprinkle some sesame seeds on it. I have always liked sesame seeds in my food, I still do. They make me more conscious of my chewing you see.

Sesame seeds pop when they get too heated and despite their size, they hurt if they hit one's skin. I would know.

My mother taught me how to toast sesame seeds on a pan after all.

Many are times I have toasted sesame seeds with nothing but my inner shirt.

My sweet darling, I had a dream the other night where we shared a bowl of coconut rice then crashed it against the wall once we had our fill.

You collected the shards then dipped them in holy water from the altar you built me and gutted me with the very same shards not once but twice.

I looked at you with amusement in my eyes before my body went fully cold. You were doing so well for me. The shards worked just as well as nails did

How did you realize exactly what I had been wishing for?

Tonight, let us have fried chicken and coconut rice. Will you crucify me against a pillar of salt to stop me bleeding?

I passed by the church garden today morning so do not worry dearest, the carnations are ready for me. Perfume me and dress me. Await my return.

The roses have emerged from the rubble of my altar. I know you hate it but please slice some stems to put in my hair when I come back? Pick the ones with the most thorns.

Sing me your favorite hymn and send me off with acceptance. Do not be afraid.

After all, you do realize what always comes after the crucifixion.

By Natasha Muhanji

From: Kenya

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