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  1. My little brother is turning seventeen tomorrow and since he is also clearing high school, I thought I would give him a special gift. I am a writer and the most special gift I thought of giving him is writing him this piece. Help me wish him a happy birthday, may he live really long and I love him; my big sister and I do.
    To my little brother:
    Happy birthday, you are slowly becoming a man and nothing makes me happier than watching you grow. I never told you this but the happiest day of my life was that day I heard you had broken your voice, watching you grow does not just makes me happy, it makes me proud too. We are very proud of you. As you navigate through life, I want you to always remember certain things:
    1. We will always be there for you.
    Whatever life brings, we will always be there for you. We may fight, be mad at each other and cut all form of communication but we will always love and care for you.
    2. Listen to Ma.
    You are slowly becoming a man, we are slowly learning to let you be a man. The world is a very cruel place, you will require more than muscles and intelligence to make it out there. Our mother's second name is wisdom; always remember that.
    3. Don't ever be afraid of failure.
    I have lived long enough to know that no matter who you are, failure is but a part of life. What matters is the lessons you learn. I believe there is always a lesson to learn in every situation.
    4. Put God first.
    We were brought up in a christian family, one of the things our mother will constantly tell you to do is putting God first, listen to her.
    5. There will be a lot of heartbreaks.
    You are finally becoming a man, that also means you will break hearts and your heart will get broken, not just by people but by a good number of things you put your heart in. There will also be girls, and God knows I do not like this particular fact but they will be there. Be very careful, not every girl is worth your sanity and heart. Make sure she is smart( I would like to be able to make a meaningful conversation with her once in a while).
    6. Choose your friends wisely.
    Your taste of friends has to be impeccable, hang out with losers and you will be the greatest loser. Good friends support you, they correct you when you are wrong and help you become a better person. Good friends do not exploit you, they do not buy you drinks, neither do they encourage you to live a reckless life.

    Happy birthday little brother. I love you.
  2. Have you ever cried yourself to sleep without knowing why? Have you ever looked at yourself in the mirror and be unable to recognize yourself? Well I have, I know what it is like to die and rot from the inside. The pain is great and the sad part is you do not get to die, you live on, you get to watch the world go by in slow motion, you watch people be happy with the full knowledge that you will never get to know what it is. Hate has become a part of me, I destroy literally everything I touch and in the end nothing ever works out, they all stay dead and I have to watch them break like glass in my arms. I wish I had stayed in the shadows, maybe that is where I really belong. I am not the type to seek sympathy, I hate it when people feel sorry for me, I despise everything that has purity in it, but not her. She had taught me how to love, how to hold onto something carefully. Her lovely green eyes had looked into my dark soul and I thought she would be the one constant thing in my life.
    As a child I had been in love with reading silly fairy tales, that may sound like a girl's hobby but I was proud of it. I loved how they all ended, the prince would find his Cinderella and they would live happily ever after. I used to fantasize about my own happy ending, about true love, happiness and belonging. I'll admit that a part of me still wishes that were true.
    I guess I have always been different, even as a child I hated crowds, hated being around others and I remember my mother taking me to see a therapist who had promised her she would solve my 'problem'. I still remember her face, she had chubby cheeks, firm hands and she was rather pale in a lovely way. I was seventeen and hormones were raging, I thought I loved her and she made me believe she loved me. When you are seventeen any woman who lets you touch her she becomes the centre of your world. I became addicted to her. I would sneak out at night to go be with her, I thought I knew her(I did know her biblically though). That was before she turned me into a monster then broke my heart.
    I had a weakness o trusting people more than they deserve, a part of me still suffers from what I love to call the myopia of pollyanna.
    I am the kind of person that tries harder, I never give up, I have never given up, not even in death. The problem however was I was never good enough for anyone or anything and I could never get used to that sad fact. The problem with reality is it always disappoints us, reality is not fair. My mother was a very religious woman, I was a religious person too and I loved to blame my problems on God. I would stay up all night crying, begging God to take me, to destroy me. I have always been a coward, I did not have the courage to man up and face reality as it was. Mother used to hold my hand and pray with me every time she heard my soft sobs. I am still angry with the universe for giving that great woman me for a son. She deserved the best. She was the first to die in my wicked hands. I held her after I had drained all the blood in her veins and for the first time I saw who I truly was; a monster... Life to me has been a sad tale, full of regrets, pain anger and a lot of misery. I know what it is like to destroy what I love the most, I know what it is like to try and fail, I know what it is like to hate, to have no one but yourself to blame.
    IHaveNoName likes this.
  3. The best things in life are free. As someone said; we human beings never know what we have till it is gone.




    I watched my wife sleeping peacefully in our rather huge bed a smile dancing on my unattractive lips. She reminded me of her, the one whose name ought to never be mentioned, maybe that was why I chose to live by my wife forever. Her hair was like Her's, I knew this because the woman fate had chosen to make my personal devil was the only woman whose skin my touch still longed for, the only woman my hands knew;every fiber of her body was still familiar to my hands. I dreamt of her every night, I still do and I hate it. Jolene's radiant skin was exactly like Her's, her lips, eyes and what I hated most to adore; her hypnotic smile. The thought of Her wiped away the smile from my face and I was almost too sure I was flushing, flushing because I hated loving her imperfections, because I was more than tormented by the memories of us, memories I was sure she too revisited every night before she fell asleep, every morning before she got out of bed.
    My phone buzzed and I gazed at it, sleepy eyes threatening to close any time. The phone made me think of her, her long huge fingers, her broken brown nails that clearly spoke of the manual labour that woman was used to, the glow in her eyes whenever she got a positive email and her half closed eyes as she strained to read her numerous messages, she had myopia and I loved to watch her try so hard to read my messages. I hated the way everything reminded me of her, like they all never existed before fate chose to bind us for life.
    'Luke' My wife muttered in her sleep then put her arm around my waist. Jolene's blonde hair reminded me of my tormentor's dark brown lustrous hair. I had been in love with running my fingers through her hair and she would pout beautifully, a tint of annoyance in her dramatic bottle green eyes; I would laugh and she would hold me tightly, so tightly I could still feel her arms around me. That woman everything a man could possibly want his woman to have; I had been too much of an idiot to see that. I rubbed my small eyes then scratched my forehead hoping the wrinkles would fade away. I had a good number of wrinkles on my rather big forehead; not that I was old, I was hardly thirty five.
    'Cynthia.' I muttered unconsciously then cursed under my breath. There were things I hated after she left, not because I always hated them, but because they told me lies I could not avoid hearing. One of these things was sleep, I hated falling asleep because her image was all I saw in my dreams, I would touch her but she always disappeared without a word, just like she did that night; her lovely eyes dull and moist. The fault had been hers; but mostly mine. I had punished her for loving me, I had wounded not just her heart but also her ego. I hated the fact that I had been able to fall asleep while she, the woman I loved had been unable to blink because of the love she felt. I had not been worthy of her love; but a part of me wished she was there with me, I wanted her to love me as much as she had. I had paid
    for every drop of tear I had made her shed. I never saw her crying but I was more than sure she did, she was tough, she could take anything and still smile like it was nothing. The only mistake she ever made was loving me. Jolene is nothing like her; she does not love me like she had; she does not care about anything but herself; most women are like that. Cynthia was different, she was nothing like them.
    Jolene said something in her sleep and my eyes flew open. Cynthia? Cynthia... Cynthia... I whispered as everything around me began to fade away.
  4. The goddess.

    The tailor's son finally gets Nadia to love him. Her love is pure and she loves him more than he ever loved her, more than anyone has ever loved him. (Love is a gift, an invaluable gift that ought to be treasured.)


    My love, the daughter of a damned soul, so I believe
    Pure her soul is, skin radiant; all my touch needed
    Her purity resembles not Artemis' purity
    Neither does her beauty resemble Venus'

    My love, flowing with flaws, but my love perfect to me is
    Nadia, she that found me, lost I was before she came
    Nadia, she sleeps silently beside me, her head on my beating heart
    I adore her, her imperfections and impurities.

    My hand she holds, within her I want to be lost
    A free soul with her I am, my heart prisoner of her charms
    Hair like wool, eyes with depths even I know not
    That into me look always, that seek to understand.

    Nadia, daughter of a blacksmith, my heart she has
    Heaven and earth for her I would move and my soul for her
    The goddess I hold every night, who more than willingly would die for me
    Her kind of love I had known not before she came to me.

    My goddess walks with grace, but strength of a soldier she possesses
    The goddess who whispers and the wind obeys
    Nadia, perfectly imperfect, her footsteps are never erased
    I love to adore her, she whose features drove me mad, my goddess.
  5. NADIA.

    She that dances like a thousand butterflies
    With grace more than I can comprehend, blacksmith's daughter
    With her wicked hands she curves beauty, she steals my soul
    She loves life, gives life to everything she sets her eyes on.

    Nadia, more beautiful than her name, I a tailor's son, I am charmed
    She looks at me with a smile, her fingers caress my soul
    I am a fool in love, life meaningless without her here
    Nadia, she that is brighter than the moon, I adore her.

    She who possesses Vulcan's soul, crafty and artistic
    She that knows every soldier's weakness
    She that holds fire in her hands, even iron obeys her eye
    Nadia, she the woman I long to hold, but alas! I am a tailor's son.

    The wind whispers her name, the son above reminds me of her
    She that I can reach not, a blacksmith's daughter
    Forbidden my love is, she that warms my cold empty heart
    Nadia! My heart sings with passion whose depths I know not.