A Letter to L

L,

Like I said before, missing people has always turned me into____________. When I miss people, I simply curl myself into a ball, away from the world and toss myself into the hallways of _________. Sometimes I find home/love/you in___________________. Sometimes in ____________________. Sometimes in _________________, beyond the disco balls in the night sky.

So last night, I decided to grab my _________, a duvet, that _________________I’ve read for the umpteenth time, headphones to play Norman Brown’s album, and sleep outside.

I tried to read the book under the moonlight but it was all __________. It just seemed _______________ to do so. Readers are ______________. Now I understand why we wear tattoos. Or why________________don’t sing.

Engulfed in the warm breeze in these strange hills, I drifted back to the fisrt time we ___________…

 

It was awkward. You were clothed in your innocence and we struggled to undress. My eyes on your ivory skin just froze my veins. My penis went flaccid and I struggled to make love properly – like I had rehearsed a thousand times before. So I spent the rest of the afternoon straightening your eyebrows, kissing here and there – the bridge of your nose and eyelids – breathing you in, and intoxicating myself in your energy. And your breasts were so small it always felt like I was giving your chest a blow job.

The more you walked through my door thrice a week, smelling some cheap cologne with a matching scarf around your shoulders, the more I was convinced that we had met before in another parallel universe. The more I demanded you. The more I slept with your laughter in my throat. The more sex became long, steamy and explosive. The more I wanted to own you. Control you. The more arguments found their way through our conversations. The more we fought. The more we called it quits. The more we called it bitch, fuck you, you ugly motherfucker, I miss you, I never loved you anyway, baby I need you back, blah blah.

And then you got pregnant. And then I asked who the father was. And then you snapped. And then you lost weight. Lost faith in love, humanity and the will to live. Lost your college degree, a dream, a life. And I just didn’t give a fuck. Even when you Instagrammed photos of the kid, I didn’t give a fucking like; I just thought, Damn, at least the little motherfucker isn’t ugly.

But then I miss people and become a wimp. But then you blossomed into a ripe young mother. But then you stopped writing angry posts on your wall. But then no pussy ever tasted so good like yours did. So I become a wimp and started texting. Asking friends if you were seeing somebody. And I begged. I just wanna see the kid, L. Tomorrow at the Mall Basement. And you showed up.

I always loved your knee-caps. And you made sure that they show. And the little bastard next to you might have been me 24 years ago. All I knew was the little god was a star seed. The type to interrupt our morning snuggling. In brief, I wanted your ass back. And his.

And you knew it. Women and intuition. And as we tried to catch up between coffee mugs, I asked if we could give it another try. You simply turned ash-like. Your eyes became bullets with question marks at the end:

Where were you when my nights felt like mouths of starving  children?

 

Where were you when the chips were down, and I auctioned my pride for a living?

 

When mom swallowed me, scolded me with her tears?

 

When your name became an ulcer on my tongue?

 

When every unanswered phone call became a brick aimed at my glass house?

 

A wall? A brick? A glass house?  A fucking broken jar?

 

When my child’s lungs wheezed with my name on them; nights became echoes of a dying heartbeat?

 

When the kid asked for your name?

 

Where were you when love lost rhythm, when they laughed?

 

Were you banging your knew bitch or shooting pool with your boys?

 

Were you plucking flowers from the garden that used to be us?

 

Where were you when I needed you?

 

 

I just froze. And you walked away. You both walked away. And you both took a piece of my breath with you.

 

And I just froze last night. The night was cold. Not that I miss you anyway. I think I miss myself. I think I miss who I was when you were around.

 

Signed:_____________

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

5 Comments A Letter to L

  1. Heydee Wahenga

    “It was awkward. You were clothed in your innocence and we struggled to undress.”

    what the hell (L) ?

    Reply

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