Petals in the rain

“I thought about you today Love,” you say…and I sit up on the bed. It is raining outside.

I have no plans of leaving neither this bed nor the house. So I ask, “really? how come?”

You laugh.

It’s always the laugh that gets me Stardust. You clear your throat and I hold onto the phone, pushing it as close to my ear as possible so that your breathing is one with mine.

“I was visiting a flower shop today, working on some financial plans for a client and I stepped into his greenhouse and there were petals on the ground, many colors, different petals I think, red, yellow, pink, some even brown and as I followed him to the back where his office was located all I could think about was you.”

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“You saw petals on the ground in some greenhouse and thought of me?”

“Oh, you are milking this…I miss you.”

“You are deflecting.”

“No, I am measuring my words Love, with you, the less I say the better…why is it that I still say so much while you only ask questions?”

“Do I?”

“See! That’s what I’m talking about…right there, look, I miss you and this climate change drama is not helping, these heavy rains and stuff! Being here reminds me of you Love, guess, you bloom even when it seems like you shouldn’t and you don’t mind shedding a few petals so you can make the ground a beautiful place for those who come your way, heaven knows I’m one lucky pig!”

I smile and I know you do too because you laugh, and there’s a long pause…before you say “take care of yourself Love, I’ve got to get back to work.”

 

Silence

It’s you…Stardust.

It’s always been you.

I don’t know what to make of these thoughts, that stir my mind, set it ablaze you’d say.

For a soul so unknown, you love fire, like the air you breathe.

It will be ten o’clock in fifty-eight minutes.

I’ve had a cup of tea for supper and you are probably watching National Geographic, stretched out like a big cat on that brown couch you have.

You’ve had a cigarette for supper, but you will fix yourself something to eat, because you know how to whip up a meal when you’re motivated, and nothing motivates you like hunger.

I keep talking to myself, my words bounce back to me, these four walls know more about my emotions than I do.

So, I’ll write you another letter before I go to bed tonight.

And it will be something like this, “Dear Stardust…silence.”

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You

You are like a confession.

I should utter you to find the release I need, but like a secret,

You choose to remain hidden.

You, are like that thought in the middle of a storm,

the silent reminder that I can let all hell break loose and I won’t die.

I wear you like a badge of honor,

Gaze upon you like a thing of wonder,

Dream of everything up yonder.

You, Stardust, are like a confession,

It’s time I utter these words and set myself free.

Christian Soler@zander222/ Unsplash.com

I Lost Me When I Found You by Miss T.N.King

Once in a while, you experience moments that call you out or bring such clarity in your life that you cannot help but sit back, reflect and change your path.

I came across Miss T. N. King’s book, “I Lost Me When I Found You” on Netgalley last week- and I wanted to read it, because for a while there have been blurred lines in my understanding and experience on love, with love and for love.

About the book: Have you ever lost yourself? In a candid and inspiring call to action, Miss T.N. King invites every woman who has felt depleted, hopeless, or “not enough” to reconnect and uncover her true, divine self—known as her Inner Goddess.Throughout this book, King exposes the “idols” we create in our minds and the lifestyles we use to distract ourselves—which leave us feeling lost and empty. She breaks down exactly how this happens and how we can transform our pain, fear, and setbacks into power, faith, and success.

King shares details of her personal journey, as well as the stories of several courageous women, and provides practical, proven tools to truly elevate us and our quality of life. Miss T.N. King shines the spotlight on relationships, career, money, body image, social media, the “superwoman” complex, women bashing on other women—and even “situationships”!


I loved the format of this book, first are the stories shared by other women “I lost myself when…” and you can actually relate to their situations. Then come the insights drawn from the Bible, the author’s experiences and famous people’s experiences and finally a call to action and those keys for reflection are amazing. This book would be great if it came with a journal. Some of the things that stood out for me were:

1.

A common mistake I notice us women make is that we stop loving ourselves when we start loving a man.

2.

In order to get something you’ve never had; you have to do something you’ve never done.

3.

What happens when you settle for a situationship? You end up becoming the “New Side Chick”- a woman who has decided to stay by a man’s side after he had expressed his lack of relationship intentions with her through his words and actions.

And finally my favorite:

Be attracted to the way a man treats you, before you are attracted to anything else about him.

If you’d like to read the book for more insights, you can visit Miss King’s website http://www.misstnking.com/  and pre-order a copy of the book on Amazon currently priced at $9.99

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Picture courtesy of Miss King’s website.

I’m glad that my 30 day new challenge for August has been sparked by reading this book and I made a list of things I love about myself and then another of things I wish I could change about myself and why-and looking at the two is my next step of action.

Can’t wait to see what this new challenge brings me.

Waiting

I saw a lady at the bus stop.

Her skin as dark as the night, her lips a beacon, and her eyes…her eyes spoke of eons of lifetimes.

So in my attempt to strike a conversation, I started with “Hi,”

She smiled and moved to the left, and seeing this space, I sat…

I could have lived in that moment, and created a world unlike this one.

I saw a lady at the bus stop,

Her skin, the canvas of nature, her scent, a testament of adornment.

I saw a lady at the bus stop and I was afraid of what her soul would reveal,

So, I fiddled with the hem of my skirt, pretended to scroll through my Facebook timeline until the bus came…and when I stood to leave, she asked me, “do you ever feel like you have been waiting all your life?”

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Conversations

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.

Shards of Glass

We love Thursdays.

You and I.

It’s the one day we can say brings out the truth in us. I love Mondays but even saying this in your presence is exorcism.

“I know everything about you,” you say. I tilt my head so I can take in your demeanor.

My Mother says that you can tell a lot about a man by the way he sits when no one is watching. So, I gaze into your eyes-but see nothing but pools of brown, so I look at your chains, you call it financial freedom, but that ID Tag you wear to work is what binds you to a shred of honor.

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“Tell me everything.”

“No, that would be too easy, besides I am just a Banker, it’s you who is the Writer. You throw around some words and they make up a person.”

“You know so little.”

“I know everything, trust me, like…listen, let me make you a cup of tea.”

I wince, but you do not see me re-arrange my face because you have gone so far into the kitchen to notice. These one-bedroom apartments. There is nowhere to run.

“We are like shards of glass, don’t you think so?” you ask, I am standing by the door, my right foot already in my shoe. I look up and see you walking towards me, “See, this is exactly what I mean. Where are you going to?”

“Um…well, I’m just going to the shop across the road to buy bread.”

“I have bread.”

“Really? Um…what brand?”

“I don’t know, it’s bread, white bread and there is also some brown bread but I think it’s lasted more than a month. So, you can take off that shoe and come sit with me. Let me tell you everything.”

“Look…”

“I am done looking. I am listening and right now, I know you will come up with an excuse not to stay because I am making tea, but I said tea when I meant coffee. So, yes, I am making you coffee- black, right?”

“What is wrong with you?”

“Good question but you are asking the wrong person, maybe we could ask you, sneaking out of someone’s house because they offer to make you tea which you don’t like, and instead of declining the offer like a normal person you try sneaking out.”

“That is the longest sentence you have ever uttered, do you know that?”

“You talk a lot when you are trying to get yourself out of a situation.”

“Thank you Mr. Revelation.”

“You are welcome Miss Salty.”

“Shut up.”

“How long are we going to dance around each other, it’s 2019 for crying out loud and the sooner we make this-and I am pointing at you and I repeatedly, the better for the heavens. I’ll stick to my world of numbers and allow you passage into the world of words. I promise to forget this as often as I can, but seriously, how long will we be at this?”

 

 

This Love: Chapter Three

I heard that good things come in threes.

I also heard that two’s great but three’s a crowd. It’s the final day and Mark promised he would send someone to pick me up. “I do not believe that people should argue in a car, the number of accidents caused because of the anger and arguments are already high, I do not want us to be that statistic.”

“Mark…”

“No, I know you have your decision to make and I will accept it, but do not make me come pick you up only to drive in silence or argue. I will send you a driver. He will come for you at seven and we can sit down and talk things through, please.”

“Okay, sure.”

“Thank you and take good care of your self Christine.”

“Yeah, well…thanks.”

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I know it is too much to ask of you, the one who is reading this, unaware of what I look like, who I truly am or what purpose I serve, but have you ever been disillusioned by love? Have you ever bought into a kind of love that shredded your heart?

For the past two days, my mind has gone through every possible situation, it has challenged me to a Russian Roulette and I have won. No, my heart has won.

Is it fair to think or not to think?

Is it fair to feel or not to feel?

Is it fair to wonder or not to wonder?

Mark told me that he was a Pharmaceutical Investor the first time we met.

For six months, I believed that he dealt with hospitals and supplied medicine, but what would you do if, like me, you discovered that he also knows how to get a kidney or can provide blood faster than any blood bank in your country?

What would you do when he gets a call and you unexpectedly walk into the room to hear him say that he will be there with a kidney in time for the operation?

I remember inhaling as much air as I could but still feeling choked and him standing there, in the middle of his living room, looking at me and then walking slowly towards me to help me into a seat. He handed me a glass of water and then said “take deep breaths Christine, you have questions and I’ll answer them, but only when you are ready to hear me out.”

Was this my love?

Was this the one person I told my sisters was “my happy place”? Who traded in body organs? Who made and received calls regarding supply of kidneys like they were placing an order for a pizza delivery?

Was this my love? Could this have been my love all along?

Love is patient. Love is kind. Love is not spiteful or vengeful or demanding.

Lovers are.

 

Alone

“You don’t know what it’s like…to be alone, to be lonely, sometimes it’s both.”

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She shoves her hand in her pocket. I look away. I know she’s been biting her nails again and I see her lips too. She searches for me from across the room and when my eyes meet her’s; she smiles. We know I know and so, she takes out her hand from her pocket.

“It’s not that bad.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Why do you agree with everything I say?”

“Do I?”

“There you go again, asking a question instead of answering one. You are going to tell me that it’s about me and not you, but I know you. See, I’ve known you since form one and you are still as tiny as you were. Remember those days?”

“Yes and you were bolder then.”

“Well, you have no idea. Sometimes I want to claw his eyes out. He doesn’t know it and if he does, he is doing a good job at pretending that he doesn’t. I am tired, all these thoughts, if I leave then people would wonder why? If I stay they’ll say were are such a lovely couple, but there is nothing lovely about being lonely when you’re with the one you love.”

I pour myself another cup of coffee. She curls up in the sofa and smiles. Her eyes die with every stretch of her lips but I don’t tell her this. I don’t tell her that she needs to eat to bring color to her cheeks. I don’t tell her…

I am a coward because I know what it’s like to magnify one offense such that you are in season three of deception yet the one you love has no clue of their offense.

Unvoiced expectations= Unmet expectations= Frustration

“You are the only person I know who takes a whole flask of coffee and can still sleep for seven hours. How do you do that?”

“I’m a cat, sleep is very important.”

“No, you are a writer and a good one. Well, the only friend I know who writes. I hate this.”

“What exactly do you hate?”

“Being lonely and alone in my loneliness.”

I look at her and smile because she has said the very thing she knows is weighing her down. She smiles and before I nod in agreement, she cries…and I for one, let her.

Ghosts in the forest

If you would have asked Grace how she felt in that moment, you would have glimpsed at something. My mother says it is like the oldest tree falling in the forest at noon, when the sun has fully kissed the earth.

Grace.

Henry.

He always said that he was named after a missionary. He brought good news, conquered her heart, toyed with her will. When he called she ran. When he said, “I want to see you,” she packed an overnight bag.

Grace was his light. She felt like his partner, the one drug strong enough to numb his nightmares, but nightmares called wife and children can never be wished or kissed away. If Grace were to ask anyone, or tune into any local morning radio talk show, she would have received her judgment. She was too smart to feed her brain such mush, instead she took it as it came; the love and kindness, but of all, she lived for the way he cherished her.

Dinner after a long day at work.

Career recommendations and the phrase he kept saying “never change yourself to suit a man, change to suit yourself, keep your dreams alive and never stop working.”

It’s why eight months later seeing Henry at a dinner party walking with his arm around her made Grace desire never ending sleep. When he found the courage to walk up to her, she shook her head firmly, as though each shake could wipe away the images that were playing in her mind.

He reached out for her hand, “Grace.”

“No, don’t,” she said and took one look around the room, but even then she knew. She knew that his wife knew and that is what my mother says is like sharpening a knife.