nilichoandika

Cafe Therapy

July 8th, 2019

“Have you ever had your heart broken in a cafe?” I ask this and you turn to me and ask “where did that come from? Is that why you want us to go to Java this Friday?”

I throw the pillow at you and in sleek mode, you duck and stick your tongue out at me. You laugh and for a second turn and I see it coming, “seriously though…are you thinking of ending us? Look, I know, wait…I know we have something, a kind of connection and you love me but are too scared to admit it, so…whatever we are, we are not leaving it at a cafe of all the places! Not a place that reeks of coffee and house music, that’s blasphemy!”

Ross Parmly/unsplash.com

There are two things I know to be true; I love coffee and I love the uncertainty that’s me. So, when you look at me, waiting for a response, I can only speak of what I know to be true. “Relax, would you…but what would you do if someone broke up with you at a cafe?”

“I would pour the coffee on them.”

“No, you wouldn’t dare!”

“Try me. Look, why are we talking about cafes and breaking up?”

“I just had an idea and you know me and these little gems of life that dwell in my mind. Now, can I get a refill!”

You take my cup and for a second stare at me, as though your mind wants to take note of every crease, bump, rash, curve, line on my face…and slowly you raise your right hand, and as it happens with every touch, I close my eyes and lean into your open palm.

“You need cafe therapy love…for one of us will go up in flames while the other stares at the embers left of that fire…”
Grace

July 6th, 2019

Would you believe me if I told you, I beheld Grace?

Would you believe me if I told you, I ran a race?

For in her eyes, the sun rose and went to sleep,

The stars sparkled and the moon glowed, I went to sleep.

Prince Akachi/unsplash.com

I beheld Grace,

Oh, daughter of the earth…stay true to your grace,

For the thing about essence is that once it’s drained,

nothing, not even grace, is sustained.
Recline

July 5th, 2019

It’s four o’clock and the evening’s splendor is at the mercy of the showers of rain. I’m on my fourth cup of coffee. You sit beside me on the couch, rub your hands together and ask “should I bring the whole kettle right here?”

“No, why?”

“You have drank half of it already and I know you’ll ask for a refill when you’re done with this.”

“Yes, so?”

“I am not your waiter.”

“I’ll get it myself, do not worry about it.” You let out a laugh. How easy it is for you to unleash these easy laughs you store within you. I shrug my shoulders but wink at you. You look away, and lean back into the couch…and I know it’s coming, because when you open up, it’s preceded by a void of silence.

Chayene Rafaela/unsplash.com

“You love me like a memory.”

I put the cup of coffee back on the table and stretch out to lay my head on your lap. It is still raining outside and when your fingers brush my cheek, I inhale the residue of cigarette smoke. I take to coffee and you take to cigarettes…sometimes, whisky.

“Have you tried Chivas?”

“The Scotch-Whisky? Yes, why?”

“I saw it on a billboard today while making my way to town. I love the shape of the bottle, it is rather feminine, a bit curvy and stocky at some point, but definitely curvy.”

“You saw a bottle of whisky on a billboard and you loved the shape of it because it’s curvy?”

I look at you and smile and you laugh…this time, it’s a blissful laugh, the kind that says “What am I going to do with this girl?” So, we sit and you take in short breaths, as though inhaling and exhaling would stop your heart from asking me questions that you know I will never answer.

I know not if this is love, if the image of your smile in my head makes me smile, if the sound of your voice at any time of the day makes me anxious. I know one thing though, that I live for these moments of silence between us, where you create a void to express your feelings and how I glide over those voids by changing the subject and you let me.

“You love this, don’t try to deny it. You should move in with me.” I shake my head and sit up to drink my coffee. You get off the couch and walk to the kitchen leaving me to the sound of the rain…once peaceful, now…

And when you come back, you lean on the kitchen door, run your fingers through your hair and ask “why are you afraid of me?”

This time…I recline.
Full Circle

July 1st, 2019

“Do you know what happens when you are loved?”

Like every question you ask me, I shook my head ‘no’ and you moved back into your seat, reclined your back to the sofa, tapped your fingers on your thigh…and laughed.

An easy laugh…you are master of these laughs. I leaned back in my seat watching you tap your fingers…did I ever tell you that I love how nimble and slender they are? I enjoy watching your fingers…simple automated things you call them, but to me, they reveal more than you know.

So, you let out a long sigh and shake your head, stare at me…hold my gaze until I look away.

“You give me bits and pieces of yourself, like you are medicine and I’m an invalid.”

I shake my head but I know you see what I let you and that scares me, for I have revealed too much.

“I’m a simple guy. I guess, sometimes I never know whether you are psycho-analyzing me or just being yourself, and that’s scary.”

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I reach out for the cup of coffee before me, take a sip and hold your gaze. It’s here that I want to be. In this silence, in this moment-gazing at you, no distractions, just your essence and mine.

“Do you know what scares me about us?”

“No, what is it?” I ask.

“What scares me is that you have so much control over me and you don’t even know it. I seek you when I know that I shouldn’t. Sometimes when I am at work and I think of you, it’s like this force pulls me to my senses reminding me that I should call you or just find you…and then when I am with you, I know I can be who I am and you’ll always appreciate me. Do you know what happens when you are loved?”

“No, what happens?”

“You blossom…you suddenly open up and between you and I, there is this strange feeling that you have been opening me up while you continue closing in on yourself.”

“I see…”

“It’s an odd feeling…knowing that it all comes full circle.”
Stellar

June 25th, 2019

You asked me at dawn, “Why is it that you smile more when you are miles away from me?”

I started, “um…I…”

You laughed, the easy laugh that we both know comes from trying to mask a pain.

I paused and so did you, for me it was to think of a lie, but for you, it was because you were on your third cigarette this morning. I could envision the smoke, smell it, miles away.

It was one of those mornings.

You missed me too much to contain your pain.

“Marry me,” you said and then laughed…another easy laugh.

“It’s good to hear from you,” I said and the beating of my heart rivaled the numbness of my fingers.

I was reaching for my cup of coffee when you said “stellar, is what you are…” and suddenly we both knew what that meant.
Conversations

June 22nd, 2019

It’s our day.

I place my head on your lap, look up into your eyes and you smile.

It’s our day, just you and I.

We talk of the little things that matter…like how it sucks that we are great together and I am not keen on saying “yes” on “walking down the aisle” to you.

We talk of the little things that matter, like how when you are with me, you know there ain’t no other heaven on earth.

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You call me sunshine, I call you rain.

You call me dawn, I call you dusk.

You call me bloom, I call you soon…it’s our love.

We do well together, you and I.

And when I ask about her, on why you saw the need to be with her, you say it started with a conversation. You said “hi,” and she said “hi, how are you?”

You started talking about the color of her hair and she moved closer to you.

I cannot bring myself to say the words, for I fear that I’ll bleed even in my words,

I’ve cried over this for ten days, but here I am, seeing you and wondering just how you would find comfort in another…how easy it is for you to take another in your arms because she smiled at you…what was it? I ask.

You say “I don’t know…it was a mistake.”

But, love, it started with a conversation…how could “hi” be a mistake, how could “I like you,” be a mistake, how could “come lay with me” be a mistake…all these conversations.

It’s why you and I are miles apart,

My heart bleeds at the thought of you in the arms of another,

But just like my words, you’ll never hear none of it.
Love Notes

June 19th, 2019

I wrote you a poem,

It felt right at dawn, now that’s it’s almost noon,

And I haven’t heard from you,

I feel like it’s doomed.

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I wrote you a poem,

Here I lie, counting the hours until you call,

It may be soon or noon,

I never know with you.

I wrote you a poem,

And I haven’t heard from you,

I feel like it’s doomed.
Dark Cocoa

June 11th, 2019

You say I collect people like I do my words,

The ones that I need are simple words they roll off my tongue like ‘yes’

The ones I do not need are words found on legal documents,

The tiny script that says “terms and conditions” that I glaze over just to sign.

You say I collect feelings like I do my breath

Gasping as I drown in my worries,

Smiling as I soak up joy and euphoria.

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It’s how uncertain I am, a mystery, an unknown…and you light up another cigarette.

You walk across the room, open the window, sit right next to it and look back at me.

“What hurts me is how I never really know you…See, with most people I can definitely say that I can predict their next moves as surely as I can their life, but with you, nothing.”

You cross your legs.

Look back at me and attempt a smile.

I want to tell you what you are, “Dark Cocoa” but like every word in my soul, I am unable to set them free.
Dance

June 9th, 2019

My Mother said she knew my feet were meant for motion when I hit the ground,

Like clouds, soft cotton buds on the earth, I glide

She also said that she cringed with every step,

The world would consume my light, she feared this would happen,

Like clouds, soft cotton buds on the earth, I glide

I told her it would never happen.

I would not let the world break me.

She would look at me…her eyes oceans of the pain I’d endure.

Dmitry Yakovlev/ Unsplash.com

Like clouds, soft cotton buds on the earth, I glide

Oh, but then I met you,

Son of the soil, fruit of the sun, seed of life

In your arms I soared and fell on my back, I have no recollection of where my feet are…

I wish I could glide on this,

Blink you away,

Drench every memory of you in tears, drink you up and spit you out!

But, my heart seems to relish this feeling, there is something about this anger that smells like ultimate power,

It rises from the depths of my heart to my skin,

Look closely how it glows, an ember of power…

I wish I could glide on this feeling, dance away, like clouds, soft cotton buds on the earth.
You and I: A short story

June 8th, 2019

If you want immortality, marry a Writer.

If you do not want immortality, but rather a taste of memory, a lingering of the unforgettable, then date a Writer and here’s the thing, be certain of what you want before you pursue a Writer. We are vicious with our words. We’ll cast you as a stool, or worse off a wretched withered broom leaning against an old lady’s abandoned hut and you’ll never know it.

If we really want to call you out, then we’ll cast you as a loser in our book and describe all your mannerisms down to the color of your nails.

If you want immortality, marry a Writer but this story is not about happy ever after, it may seem so, but before you start throwing a party and inviting your friends over, be sure that you want to listen to this…so I met this guy!

Phil.

We’d been in the same circles but never interacted that much, we just made simple conversation. He struck me as suave. The guy who wore fitting jeans, always rocked a mean pair of Converse (If you know me, you know I love a guy in Converse… I’d marry a guy in Converse) and gave tight hugs. Yes! The hugs that you felt all the way into your bones, the kind that jolted your feelings into some kind of euphoria and you’d never let go, besides my Mom told me that when people who are close to you hug you, don’t be the first to let go, it may be the last time you feel their heartbeat. She also provided a caution to that, but we’re talking about Phil, where was I? Yes, Phil gives bone melting hugs. I’m not so great at opening up to people, because I come in waves and seasons. Sometimes my tide of sharing is just sufficient to get me what I want and other times, it’s non-existent to the point that people conclude I’m a snob.

Phil would always give me hugs.

I just published this short story on Smashwords. I’m so happy that I am writing again, so get the whole story by downloading it here.

Or click on the image on the side bar to download a copy.