It's been 3 months since we wore those long, large gowns the color of carpet grass. I still dream of our graduation day, the way you were so happy to finally be moving out into "the real world". How you nudged me and wrapped me around in your hood for being too quiet. What was I to do? I knew I was going to miss you endlessly. I wanted to make you understand that graduating meant parting from you and I would rather die in the damned dystopia than crash with heartaches. That doesn't matter now, most of it anyway. I moved back to Abuja, you're somewhere in Lagos doing God knows what. It's been 3 months since I last held you. Months that seem to span into years. Months that don't even speak the truth, those whatsapp conversations where were too busy paying attention to flimsy details "I miss how you used to pull my hair to get my attention, no one does that anymore" the stupid smiley that rolls her eye is my favorite reply anytime you type "I miss you" I cant bear to be honest. Honesty would mean the whole truth, how I dream of you pulling my hair and moaning my name, How much I wish, I spent that last night before graduation on your bed. I didn't. You have a girlfriend. The old me cared, I don't now. I'm packing my bags we've got to be in school for our call up letters....
Call up letters meant seeing your face again. Seeing your face again meant emotional torture. I don't know which I dreaded most, I had put all that behind me. Being away from you or seeing you with her again, stealing kisses behind the pink hibiscus flower beds. I still detest the colour pink. I remember before you settled with her, how you didn’t want her, you even called her fat. “She isn’t my type” you said too easily, I wonder what changed your mind. How one day I mocked you with her name aand you simply smiled. No protest. No nothing. You were hers. You wore her proudly like your bvlgari perfume. I began to hate you. I detest her. I hate the way your instagram pictures now scream you belong to her. I'm sick of your lunch date pictures, oily fries and cold stone ice-cream. I don’t enjoy them anymore you would never call me fat. When I become your girl we wouldn’t need that account. We’ll have secret pictures of nudes and my less oily body in lingerie, meant for only your eyes. I’m letting my silly daydreams and endless fantasies torture me into sleepless nights. No. Now I'm packing to see you. My mind replaying videos of your lips on my neck, your fingers in my hair and your olive brown skin next to my dark one. I love the videos in my head, here you moan out my name and no one else's.....
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