If I were to write a long song it would be about love
About fire. In my chest, heating up my bones.
If I were to write a love song it would be about you
Brown eyes with so much promise that hold my feet glued to the ground .
If I were to write a love song it would be about euphoria
the air of childish carefreeness and the sound of laughter
If I were to write a love song it would be about lust
Heated passion, fiery romance and joint bodies.
If I were to write a love song it would be about sacrifice
selfless love and an endless length of excusing your intentions
If I were to write about love it would be about pain
Blinding pain that takes your breath away
If I were to write about love it would be about loneliness
One absence after another, that leaves you empty inside.
If I want to write a love song it would be about how you walked into my heart and walked out, taking everything with you.
Monday, 28 July 2014
Words fail me as I write to you. Today I went to visit my husband at the nursing home again. I knew my faith, my constant belief in hope would destroy me. I took along with me a memory, something that gave my legs strength to go and visit him one last time. The nurses already told me not to come anymore, I see the pity in their eyes, they say that coming here isn't good for my health.
He stared blankly at the black and white picture.Tears threatened to flow down, heavy words stuck in my chest. It was the best day of our lives and he didn't remember.
How can one not remember his wedding day?
Why did I come? My heart, it begins to hurt all over again.
I remember meeting my husband like it was yesterday.
Someone once told me flowers are the earth’s way of laughing. I sought for undefined happiness. The one no one understood to take away from me. Like the simple joy from touching a hundred flowers and not pick one. Earth would have been my paradise. If it were not becoming as selfish as the humans living in it. I found myself walking down the street of the vegetable village market that day, and I felt the heaviness of his stare, I felt his eyes caress the back of my neck down my waist. My skin flushed and my insides tingled. I was too nervous to turn around, I felt I walked awkwardly. I walked into one of the shops and sat down ordering a Moringa tea, that was when I noticed him. His blue eyes were almost transparent so you could see his soul which shone brightly with careless excitement. He smiled at me then and I tried to avoid his eyes. That evening ended with my dark cocoa skin being loved by this white stranger. It was almost amazing how we could be so different and fit in so perfectly, his pink knuckles gently stroked my face as he looked into my brown eyes as he watched me orgasm. He gave me my first orgasm, it felt like rain, like I was the heavens and I had released a downpour of pleasure on myself. In that moment I was complete, I was alive, I could feel. No one ever made love to me like this, most of the men I knew would rather turn you round and fuck you like a dog. I grew up believing men never cared so much about a woman’s feelings or her orgasms, only their satisfactions. Most of the friends I had faked orgasms, some didn’t even bother. Kemi told me she was sure Tunde was deaf because all she did was make horrid harmony to any song that came to her mind then. Salmat just cried, Niyi was always so violent, thrusting into her too hardly and pulling her hair.
You know that moment when you just know. Things may not always be perfect, things may end disastrously, tomorrow may be the end of it, but you just know that this person is the love of your life. That you know your heart will never be able to love any other person, that you will never be able to give yourself the way you will to this person. That you both share the same soul. This day was my moment. We got married weeks later and we had many other nights, and I had many other orgasms.
And then Alzheimer's happens, and we are strangers again. I am lying to you if I tell you I understand white men and their diseases. How can someone just forget, forget that he has a wife. He is not the same man, he is like a toddler who is learning everything afresh.
I want to come home. I am tired of living in his apartment that intoxicates me with his stench. I miss the hot Nigerian weather and the busy Lagos streets. I don't know how Mama would feel, I remember how she made it clear that she never wanted anything to do with me. Tell her I wouldn't mind having Apostle do the purification rites on me, this place is driving me mad. Maybe she was right and I am sorry for being the devil's child.
I just want to come home. I hope you are well, I am looking forward to seeing you.