I Chose You

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 something wrong? Is trying really that bad? I wanted to apologize, maybe he would have understood. Is there someone else? Is that why you want to leave? Don’t I do enough? He almost cried. I stood beside him silently knowing I had made the biggest mistake of my life, but I had to, for us, or maybe just for me. I am sorry, I love you though… Honestly I would have laughed at myself too. I could not look at him without crying, he said he loved me and I wanted to leave because I loved him, how crazy! I am afraid of what your mother might say, what your sister said hurts… I wiped away my tears with the edge of my sweater.

My father’s funeral. His wasn’t like my mothers, people wept, I wept. Not because we had lost him, I wept because for the first time in a long time my mother did not shed a tear. I sat beside her and watched her look into the future that was now bleak and be unable to cry. Maybe she knew it would haunt us forever, I have convinced myself that was the reason why my siblings left before and never wanted to return. It was a short service, we prayed, my aunts spoke with such bitterness directed at my mother and my eldest brother spoke about father’s kindness. He was a beautiful man, I knew that. They then let me sing a song father and I used to sing as we walked to kindergarten together, before they laid him to rest. They did not let mother speak, she was too weak to stand on her own for long. As fragile as she was, she still looked beautiful. I remember tugging at her dress and she struggled to hold me the entire service. She wore the dress father liked most. He had gotten it for her a year earlier on her birthday. She was so happy that night, she bathed, put it on and made father his favourite food. I remember looking at the casket being lowered to the red virgin land just beside his favourite tree, where he and I had built a swing. I realised that he was gone, as young as I was, that struck me and I fainted in my mother’s arms.

We don’t make sense, you know that, don’ t you? I looked up at his perfect face and wondered whether we would ever get the chance to be together the way we wanted to. He did not speak, he swallowed and looked away, a streak of red on his right cheek. I had seen him blushing so many times before, it was different this time, he was nervous and well, confused. Josh and I had this amazing connection, so much so that we could tell what the other person was feeling. He had deep blue eyes that turned grey whenever he was excited or angry. They were not the exact definition of lovely eyes but they had so much life in them. He and I would sit and talk for hours, holding each others hands and staring into the other person’s eyes. Our talks were mostly about our dreams and secret pleasures, most of which my husband still doesn’t know. Josh liked to tease me, I remember the first real argument we had, he was getting too friendly with this other girl and I lost it and threatened to walk away. He did not let me leave, instead he kissed me and told me not to worry, according to him, no other girl would understand him the way I did. It was true, no one could understand us the way we understood each other.

Flower, please. He whispered under his breath and my heart sunk. I had wanted him to let me go without a fight, maybe then I would have been less sad. I had to do it, I want him to know that I had to let him go, not for myself, but for him. I love you, so much so that I want you to be happy with your family, so much so that I want your family to be happy with your decisions. He stood there silently for a few minutes his eyes on the bar across the street from where we were standing. Fuck that, they would eventually accept everything once they see how happy I am, how happy we are. Maybe he was right, maybe things would have been better if I had stayed longer, maybe we would be accepted by the society.

I should tell you a little about Josh, he was a tall blond man with a beautiful smile and the most amazing stories to tell. He was born and raised in Russia, but moved to Kenya after his father died to start his own business. He was also a muslim who went to the Mosque to pray and read the quran whenever he could. His mother and sisters were back in Russia but came to visit once in a while. He and I met on his birthday, and he chose to walk me to my place because, according to him, he was feeling particularly generous. He loved to travel, and he took me with him on one of his trips to Russia to visit his family. That is when it all began, his family hated me. I was not only a black orphan whose parents died of HIV/AIDs, did I was also a black Christian?

He held my hand that night after we had dinner with his family as I wept and told me he did not care about all that. The problem was that they cared, and he would eventually care too.I slept in his arms like I was used to hoping it would all go away, I just wanted to love him.

You don’t understand… I started to cry and he wiped the tear with his thumb. Make me understand. He was not about to let it go. I knew my Josh, he was the kind of man you hold on to because he never lets go. He loved to surprise me, on our second date he brought me my two favourite things, a bar of chocolate and a Stoker Bram novel; first edition! I was so happy, I let him bring me back to his house for coffee. Our first kiss was everything, he did not force it, it just happened and I could not have asked for more. The man was so gentle, yet so strong. It was on the balcony of his house where we went to look at the stars. For the first time in my life I thought I had everything I wanted. The hikes, the long talks, the secret embraces and the promises we made in the middle of the night made me believe in love again. The thing is, we made promises, promises that I may have forgotten for a moment, promises that will always haunt me.

We are different… More tears were falling, and he made no attempt to wipe them away. Are we, Flower? Is that what you believe? That we are different! We were not, he was me and I was him, we had found our true selves in each other. We may not have had similar beliefs but our heart synced in weird ways. He made me believe in things I only dreamt about and I made him believe in things he once considered stupid. Your family… I am sorry. I ran off, I walked away from the only man I had ever truly loved. I couldnt’ look back, it was raining and I was crying, he probably was too. I stopped after running for about two hundred metres, out of breath.I loved the man, What am I doing? I ran back, hoping to see him still standing where I had left him, he was not there, he had left. I ran to his house, I wanted to tell him I choose him, I wanted to tell him he was the only one I wanted and that I did not really care about what his family or anyone else thought.

My husband loves me, but he will never love me as much as Josh did, and I know that I would never be able to love another man the way I loved him. Because I loved him! I loved him and I will always love him.

He has a wife I hope he loves, and a daughter he knows nothing about, a daughter I am sure he would have adored if things were different. I know that not all love stories were meant to have a happy ending. I however hope he is happier than I am, I hope he never thinks of me when he is in bed with her, or that he ever sees my face when he looks at himself in the mirror. He is not to blame, neither am I, everything was beyond us.

All I want him to know is I chose him over everything.