Dear Josh Dear Josh, I want you to know that I forgive you, and I forgive myself, but I will never be able to forgive fate. You and I were like a dream, maybe a phantom, we were, we loved, we lived, but it all is so surreal. Mine heart never broken it was, for I have no heart, you own it. I loved you like the river loves the moss, gently, truly. Maybe if I pen these down I shall have a good night’s sleep, you shall be woke from your nightmares. I am sorry somethings were never meant to be, but I want you to know, I chose you over us. I have never been one to hope, or wish for stuff, all I ever wanted was something real. I wanted to hold someone, or something in my arms and to be held in the same way. I didn’t care who it would be, as long as it was real. I remember thinking that I had a choice in life, not that I did not, I just didn’t. It was Friday, I remember this because I had just done laundry when I ran into him. I was not pretty at that time; my hair was undone and my eyes were practically swollen from oversleeping (what can I say, it was Friday). He did not look at me at first, but I saw him and a part of my heart went with him. I hid behind him but I guess fate just hated me. He held out his hand after I fell flat on my face and I took it, a shy smile on my face. He was beautiful, so beautiful that I fell again after he helped me up. He said he thought I was drunk, and I lied that I don’t drink. I remember how melancholic he looked that night, he cursed that day, he cursed fate for bringing us together. Honestly, I hate it that fate brought us together only to tear us apart like that. Not just from each other, with him went a part of me, a part of me I want to recover but I know I can’t. I have spent countless nights by my husband’s side hoping that fate never ripped Josh from me like that. As I said, he took a part of me with him, and I guess a part of him will always haunt me; forever. He was no perfect, he had flaws I had learnt to love dearly. He talked too much and most of the time his jokes were in poor taste, but I did not mind listening to them. He loved holding my hands as I danced around in a clumsily, it was our thing. His smile was perfect though, and his eyes had this light that bore into my soul, making me smile every time our eyes met. His hair was curly and his strong hands would sweep me off my feet every time we kissed, those moments really felt like we were meant to be. I don’t honestly know why that man loved me so much; but I loved him even more because I knew he loved me unconditionally. I have seen him crying, he held my hand when I had no one else to turn to, he literally saved me from myself.I remember how our first week together was magical, the hand holding, the perfect kisses and the right words into the other person’s ear. He would stand outside my apartment and I would go by the window and we would look at each other for minutes before running into each other’s arms. He would bring me chocolates, strawberries and ice cream; and I would cling to him like he was all I had. Because, he was all I had. My parents were gone, my siblings were too distant and well, I had no friends. He was a bit emasculating but I loved that he wanted to protect me. That night will always haunt my dreams, I dream about it every night and I usually wake up crying. My husband does not know, he thinks it is about my parents’ tragic death when I was younger. That I made peace with because I knew they were at peace. I saw my mum’s face before she took her last breath and she was happy. She looked so peaceful on her deathbed. She was a beautiful woman with huge brown eyes and lustrous bushy hair, both of which my daughter and I had inherited. She smiled as tears streamed down her hollow cheeks to her cracked lips. I had seen her cry so many times before, but I knew that this time it was different, it was time, she was going to be with the angels. She squeezed my hand so tightly that even I began to cry. I was only six, but I knew I would ever see her smile again. I did not want her to go, I wanted her to stay and be well again. Both my parents were HIV positive. They died within a week of each other,and I would like to believe that both of them looked happy, peaceful and maybe glad to be free of the pain and stigma. My mum was the last one to go, at first I was confused, then I was angry, and when I finally remembered her peaceful smile as she died I was happy for them, but oh, how empty. Josh and I did not have that. He was sad when he left, angry even. And I was completely shattered as I walked away from us. I could no look at myself in the mirror for days, I wanted him to come to my window and look at me the way he used to, for I swear I would have let him in again, I would have given up everything to be with him. I did not get to tell him how I felt, and a part of me hopes that he had more to say to me. He loved me, I could see it in his eyes when he threw the watch I had given him on the concrete where we stood. The world around us was too loud, I could not say it as clearly as I wanted to. Normally, when we were together everything and everyone around us disappeared. I would let him hold my hand and at times I would let him kiss my forehead in public. That night was different, he was angry and I was sad, maybe I made a mistake, maybe it was not fate’s fault but our own. It reminded me of my dad’s death. I don’t remember much about the man, all I know is that he loved me. The few memories I have of him I am very fond of. He loved to snuggle me when I was sick, he loved to tickle me and he would walk me to school almost every other day after feeding me, tying my shoelaces and combing my stubborn hair. Why do I always seem to lose everything that I truly love? I was not in the room when he passed away, but I remember my aunts wailing and cursing my mother’s name for bringing the monster to their brother. I don’t know whose fault it was, but I know it was not my mother’s, she loved the man. He suffered more than my mother. After they found out that they were both HIV my father refused to take care of himself, I think that killed my mother’s will to live. I never told Josh about them, but I am sure he knew I loved them, that I loved him too. My father could not walk and was so skinny that I was afraid of him, but his smile, his beautiful smile that I had grown up looking at was still there. He did not die peacefully, he died sad. Mostly because he had wanted to tell my mother he loved her but couldn’t, he had dreamt of seeing me become a woman, maybe he wanted to walk me down the aisle. I had held his hand that morning, hours before he died, his once strong hands were so weak and bony, but I could feel his warmth although he was practically lifeless. He asked me about school, my mother and what I would like us to do together when he gets better. I was so happy I thought he was finally going back to the man I knew. I told him I wanted him to carry me to school and I saw a tear fall down his face. I started crying but he told me that was the sickness leaving his body, not tears. I watched him struggle to wipe the tear away and it broke my heart to watch him fake a smile. I knew he loved me, He did not need to say it aloud. “I choose you, I choose you over every girl I have ever been with, over everything I know, I love you Violette.” I will forever hold those words close to my heart. I couldn’t let him get hurt like that, maybe leaving hurt him more than staying ever did. I was honestly in love with the idea of the two of us, I had married the idea of someone loving me so truly for the rest of their life. I am a dreamer, life taught me to dream about good things, but it also taught me to fear them, because nothing hurts more than being in love with something that would eventually be taken away. My mother’s funeral made me realize that good things are not meant to be around forever. I have never felt so empty in my life before. Emptiness is the first feeling I ever felt, other than love and happiness. I watched her brown casket being carried around with her lifeless body inside like she never lived. I did not want the service to end, because that meant I would never see her again. I sat by the casket hoping that she would wake up cured. I wanted her to maybe say my name one more time. My siblings held my tiny hand, tears streaming down their faces but I could not cry. I envied how strong they were, at least they could let out the pain. The pain had become a part of me. I could not let go of the memories we had shared, I couldn’t let go of the fact that I had lost someone who adored me. The woman loved to make me feel good about myself more than she loved herself. She had the most beautiful soul ever. She used to braid my hair once a month and during this time she would get me a new kitenge dress with new shoes and I would sleep in her bed that one night. She loved to sing, she would sing me a lullaby, and when she was in a good mood, she would allow me to sing along to two or three songs. How was I supposed to let that go? I remember how different she looked in the casket, so vulnerable yet so peaceful. I wanted to look at her forever, but they wouldn’t let me, She was my mother! I did not fight when my older brother carried me away, or when they covered her up with dirt. I held onto my brother and watched our memories fade as they filled the hole with red dirt. That day I lost a part of me I believe was so beautiful. The saddest part is no one seemed to care. Josh had chosen me, I wanted to tell him I choose him too but could not bring myself to say it. I repeat, not that I did not love him, I just could not allow myself to go through the same thing I went through when my parents died. He held my hand in his, his eyes piercing through my soul. He knew it was the end, I watched him wipe his face with his beautiful hands and I realized I had made a mistake. Why then? Did I do...
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
