Ye’s Diary.

‘It’s quite hard carrying a baby and going through all these old memories’, you say to yourself. But the guest room needs cleaning and most of these boxes, stacked up with things you don’t know, need cleaning too. You bend and continue to dust off the dirt on this box. You wonder what’s in it and decide to tear it open. 

The first thing that catches your interest is your diary. Your old diary you used to write in, poems, prose and even some fiction, all in your messy handwriting. The diary was quite dusty, as it was written in your teenage years when you were still young and full of life. You sit, situating the baby beside you and begin to flip through the pages. 

You stop at one and relinquish in the feeling once more.

 

And somehow, in gazes held too long, 

Fingers inter-twinned for one more second and 

Back and forths held less annoyingly, 

We fell for each other hard.

Like people falling from the edge of the cliff, 

We knew our fall wasn’t going to end well. 

With no care in the world, we fell anyway.

Harder. 

 

Like two planets awaiting collision, 

Our hearts refused to give up on the emotion we couldn’t have.

We danced in places we couldn’t be seen, 

Held hands in the darkest of nights, 

Kissed in areas only the moon was a witness to,

Smiled until our hearts were full. 

 

Like two children playing hide and seek, 

We tried to find a way this could work, 

Unable and unwilling to let go of this deep emotion forming and stirring in our hearts, 

We convinced ourselves we were going to make it through the chaos. 

Most days, it felt like we were lying. 

Like we were drowning in the absence of truths in the ‘we’ll be just fine.’, ‘I’ll make it work.’

But we sat back, 

Finding comfort in our lies and being happy by what really couldn’t be.

 

Our worries were inconsequential when our lips met and our sighs were changed into those of pleasure when skin touched. 

Needless to say, in your presence, 

I felt relief. 

Relief from the pain that washes over my soul. 

Relief from the ever-bearing questions I used to ask myself.

 

‘Where do we go from here?’

‘My father would never accept this, what am I doing?’

Questions evaporated into thin air in your presence.

My mind went blank just by staring into your green eyes, 

Life felt life-worthy and I didn’t feel choked. 

 

But, everything good must come to an end. 

There’s no reason reminiscing the past. 

The Igbo girl and Yoruba man scenario never really works out anyway. 

 

The smile that engulfs you spreads. Like fire on a petroleum-soaked cloth, it spreads with no caution. Without a breath, you pick up the biro on the wooden table and complete the piece.

 

Here, I am. 

Mother of two, the second clutching my breast as I think so fondly of you. 

The softness of your grip, 

The subtlety of your voice,

The dominance in your tone. 

I think and I’m grateful. 

Grateful I found love in this lifetime. 

Grateful I found it in your green eyes.

Dear Reader, 

I’ve missed you. I’ve missed writing to you and I’ve missed posting on the blog. I took a weird break from writing and now it feels like a hiatus. Day by day, i had these words choking me because i refused to put them to paper. But I’ve terribly missed writing. This, is from, me to you. 

To remind you that I never stopped writing. 

Because my pen is my lover. 

The only lover who ever truly loved me. ❤️