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?”
I feel too much. You say that one has to look at me to know what I feel, my emotions adorn my skin, my breath is a composition of emotions and my eyes…you fear that gaze, the one that you claim bores into your soul and draws it into the light.
How you come up with these words, I know not. Whereas I devour books, you would rather skin a feline creature than consume the words in one.
So, you stand back and watch me down my fourth cup of coffee and shake your head, “I swear you are an addict, coz who drinks that much coffee and falls asleep? Remember the time you had two shots of expresso and still had another house coffee? And chocolate cake all in one sitting?”
“I love coffee.”
“It’s bad for your teeth, skin and all that acidity…try some drinking chocolate, or soya.”
“No, thanks.”
You smile and continue chatting on your phone. I drown in my words, in my worlds thinking about you- for I have never met anyone who knows how to disentangle themselves from their current situation without a second thought. You come to me when you want to.
You flee from me like the rising and setting of the sun.
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Stardust, I wrote you a letter.
I couldn’t sleep after seeing you two nights ago, and there was this shiver that filled my soul when I thought about you, and so I put everything I felt at that moment in words. You are right, do you know that? I feel too much, and the thing about being in public or busy circles is that I pick up on how people feel and it’s too much for me, am I going crazy Stardust?
Like right now, I know you are almost giving in, suggesting that you hang out with them…and you will invite her or her group of friends. These beautiful creatures swirl about you. They are readily available and whenever I think of it, my head snaps…my heart wretches and my soul weeps. How happy and comfortable you are in who showers you with attention, if you can hit it and quit it, then the heavens are in your favor.
How did I get here Stardust?
You are like a cause that I volunteered for and now that I have been here, I do not know whether I believe anymore. Like religion, you shatter my beliefs when trauma strikes. Like life you unravel with each event.
How did I get here Stardust?
Why am I still here Stardust? So, I see you shake your head and you grin, and before you hit that reply button, I know that she’s convinced you. Or rather, you have made it easy for her to convince you, Stardust.
So, I guess I’ll keep that letter Stardust…one day, when my heart is completely broken, I’ll read it at dusk, light it up at dawn and walk into the day knowing that I truly loved and in so doing, love fueled my life.
“Sometimes, your refuge becomes your cage,” you say this and look outside the window.
If I were a Sketch Artist, I could capture the planes of your jaw…
I would dab that jaw line with coal and sprinkle a pinch of ash, for the grey that’s your soul.
“What color is my soul?” I ask.
You laugh, an easy laugh…and my heart glows for you still have these glimpses of who you are when your mind is miles away from me.
“I don’t know a thing about colors, Love. My knowledge is limited to primary colors, but I know a thing or two about smoke and mist, and if you were to ask me, to genuinely ask this of me…I would say that your soul is a galaxy. Miles away, a thing of beauty, unattainable.”
“Where do you get these words from?”
“I don’t know Love. When I am around you, sometimes, the hardest thing is to accept who I am…for I never know why I am calm when I bleed my heart out or even why I do it, see, if you ask my friends, like take Martin for example, he’d tell you I am a jerk, the most clueless person on earth…but Martin’s lucky, he’s got his forever-and now he just has to work towards making it last, and look at me…look at us…”
“And?”
“You’re my Kilimanjaro…I love you but I do not know how to leave who I may be when you are away from me, so no matter how hard I try, I never get to your peak…”
My love is like a faucet, the show of affection depends on how much you turn it.
You said this amidst puffs, and I never took my nose out of the book I was reading.
We have these easy evenings where your mind is numbed by your heart and my heart is frozen by your actions.
“Let’s go get supper, I’ll make you something delicious,” you say.
I lift my head from the page, shake my head ‘no’ and continue reading.
It’s easy to say no to you because when you truly want something you never stay still.
You are still standing by the window, your left hand outstretched, a finger tapping off the ashes off your cigarette butt.
“Can I make you a cup of coffee? It’s instant though,” you ask.
“Yes, thank you,” I reply and for a moment you hold my gaze. It’s what you desired, this moment, my attention so you can appeal to my soul again.
It’s all you ever do, Love.
You appeal and appeal and your requests are mundane…your requests desire normalcy, yet my soul yearns for the unexpected…and I sit and hold your gaze until you take one more puff, throw that cigarette butt away and take two strides towards me.
Your hands reach out to me and in an instant, your forehead is against mine…I wait.
You inhale…slow and steady and I know what’s coming, I have been here…
However, much I say I’ve healed…however much you say that you belong to me, I know that at some point, at three in the morning, another will answer your call. At dusk another will be in your arms, in the club, at a party, on vacation…you inhale and exhale these feminine creatures and I for one, cannot bear to be a statistic.
You chuckle, low…but it warms my heart and you say “sometimes I wish you only had one doubt, because then I could easily dispel it, however when you reign in showers of doubt my Love, I am at a loss and I am with you but you are not and you know what, it kills me that I seek you out to push you away, how messed up is that? Do you know what I wish for you?”
“No, what is it?”
“I wish that none of your doubts were true. I wish your heart blossomed like mine, and that every second you spent with me filled you with joy, as much as any away from me. I wish you loved me…I wish I kept you, like you did me…I wish…”
Ours is a love unlike no other…for I have no idea of any other kind of love,
So, I hold onto my heart, pull up my sleeves,
Look around this small room…smile when all I want to do is cry.
Cry for, I wish my Dad was here…walking me down that aisle,
Looking at you with the kind of eyes that command “don’t you dare break her heart!”
Cry for, everything I thought I’d never feel, I do…it overwhelms me.
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I am not this kind of woman, I do not tear up at the thought of walking down that aisle to you…it’s a day like any other day, the sun has risen and it will set.
I do not shiver at the thought of what we’d create,
I do not cower at the thought of disappointing you…at some point, I will and I am sorry.
So, before the organ plays “Guide me, Oh Thou Great Jehovah,” and I take my first step on that carpet leading to you,
Before I go anywhere but here, I want you to know that I am as whole as I am broken.
I do not expect you to fix what’s broken in me, I do not expect you to chip away at my wholeness.
I do not wish any sorrow upon you by choosing to walk this path with me,
I’ll get angry at you, I’ll keep what scares me to myself at times, not because I do not trust you, but because I am not strong enough to face it then…patience, is all I ask for…and Heaven knows we’ll need it.
You’ve waited for twelve years, you’ve bled more than you let on…and I’ve watched you but never helped…
Oh, that your love may see you through…it’s all I pray for, before I go.
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.
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“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?”
nilichoandika 