I will keep going back to our conversations. The emails specifically will take me back to my lack of courage in asking for your number. I always laugh whenever I go back there. It was an interesting time. Some moments after I had been introduced to your blogging by Willy.

It usually happens the other way round. I am the one always introducing him to creative minds who don’t mind sharing their awesomeness with the rest of us. This time around it was different. He sent me a link and demanded I check you out.

Initially, checking you out, in my weird kind of way meant looking through your photos, but there was just one (at least one that you were in) but the rest were representations of romantic couples in various postures of passion.

I did check you out… You were sitting on a rocky surface or something… I couldn’t quite tell. If my mind serves me right, you were in a green dress or skirt. It was impossible to tell which because of the denim coat.

But that’s not what kept me coming back to that blog. It was the seamless way you played with words that kept me coming back. Don’t get me wrong. You were physically alluring. You still are. But your words brought me closer to you in a way that single picture couldn’t.

Getting into character, I wrote you an email…

Me: hey you, Daaaaamn. You can write. You have the talent, the words and the way to really bring out your thoughts

I didn’t expect a response. Not because you looked snobbish but because I knew that you received a ton of emails from people reading your mind every day. The email was simple. Just an appreciation of your awesome work… It was an acknowledgment that you were phenomenal through your poems in very simple words.

But then three days later you responded…

Hey, Thanks I appreciate

After a string of emails, you gave me your number when you noticed I was too timid to ask for it.

You: I hope you are having a good one. Take care…

Me: Hey, its crazy but I long for your email replies hehe

You: Then here is my number 072….. haha

I then proceeded to write you a text and immediately followed it up with an email.

Me: There’s my number.

That email went unreplied to. Up to this day. We followed it up on a phone and a call after some texts. I loved your voice. When you sent me a picture of yourself on WhatsApp, I understood why you had such a beautiful voice.

There was no way someone with such amazing words could be unlikeable in any way. You were strikingly good looking.

Me: You look amazing. I now see why you have such a beautiful voice.

You: Why? Haha

Me: You have such soft lips.

You: Lol

Me: I lie sleepless,

Moaning in the darkness,

Consumed by nothing but bitterness,

Pain beyond me, am powerless,

Spirit clamped in awareness,

Lacking most plus wholesomeness,

Lost,  listening to the crickets…..

You: Eish!!! Nice!

Me: Random thoughts…

You: Lemme do something here I will send the poem

Me: Okay…

You: Sorry, I was updating guys on today’s meeting

Me: You don’t have to apologize… I understand

You: So what’s your fantasy… Before you say anything…here is mine… ” In my fantasy, you are sitting on the chair opposite of me,  So watch me as I caress myself, Down to my boobs, but not too fast, I heard you love boobs, Slowly opening my legs, So watch my fingers slide in and out of my…

Me: Daaaamn…

When it came to you I always found myself uttering those words. You were addictive to my brain, my thoughts and some other parts of this system that cant be mentioned here today.

The roller-coaster took off.

I smiled when I read that text and so many others that followed after. We stayed up late talking endlessly. We always had something to inform each other about our daily going ons. We existed between each other’s company and the unquenchable desire to talk to each other.

We never dated.

Both of us were in indefinable situations in our day to day lives and as such, we lived through our words, our desires (which we always kept in check) and an insurmountable urge to read through what each of us had written at one point.

Through our words, we caressed, kissed, touched, laughed, cried, longed, desired…

But at one point we stopped and disappeared into daily schedules, relationships, bills, demands and ultimately the talking reduced and became unexistent.

I blame myself. Not because it’s the easy thing to do but because it’s the right thing to do. I should have tried harder.

The one person I always sent anything I had written was you. You always read through and smiled. The smile was enough. At one point we wrote a poem together. Responses on top of responses. I couldn’t tell which part was real and which one was creative.

The readers couldn’t either.

I don’t know which is worse, being the one with the
broken heart or being the person that breaks the hearts,
It’s not that we aren’t meant to be together,
I think that we’re just not ready for forever.

I am ready for forever,
Because I am tired of lying with whoever,
But there has to be a plan however,
Or forever will in turn into never

I’m afraid to give you my all,
I’m afraid to love you completely.
What if behind your good face
and kind words you are just ‘using’ me.
Maybe you are just reeling me in until you turn around and
drop me.
I’d fall so far and never be able to recover,
I wish I could see the ending sometimes.
I would know if I should hold on to you and keep
going or just let it all end before I get up too high.

Why are you afraid?
Have I given you any reason to be doubtful?
Of my noble intentions and intended persuasions?
Have I not been there for you?
Through endless persecutions from various factions?

It was raw emotion woven into words that couldn’t be contained inside. You laughed at my stupid pieces and corrected my typos and the lack of coherence when such instances occurred… I don’t know if you remember this…

“I met her blindly. The first thing that drew me to her was a blog that a friend suggested I should visit. I love staring into people’s thoughts and blogs are the best way to do that. It was epic and ‘hot’ in every sense. It was mind-boggling in that it stretched my imagination to places that will take decades to get back from.

The inscriptions there were as sensuous as the chic herself thanks to a photo of her on the landing page. I stared at that photograph several minutes trying to envisage what went through her head as she wrote those awesome pieces. I asked myself what it took to be that good at writing and specifically the evolution that someone had to undergo to be such a great poet. She was good. She is still awesome. I had a thousand and one questions for her as I sifted through the pieces she had put together but I just left one comment after reading over 10 of her poems.”

I finished up by saying…

“I sit back and tell myself that if we had more people like you, the world would be calmer, more approachable and warmer. She reminds me of the words of Humphry Davy that life is made up, not of great sacrifices or duties, but of little things, in which smiles and kindness, and small obligations are given habitually, are what preserve the heart and secure comfort.”

I miss that friendship… A friendship that was borderless and honest… It was that kind of friendship that blooms in the center of your heart – that kind of friendship that grows from the seed basking in the warm soil to a vast tree with many ups and downs, many – but not enough to disguise the enormity or the grandeur of such a tree, the sheer brilliance and beauty of it.

When the snow falls and rains burst and swell when the sun rises and maize stalks dry and wilt, when the thunder strikes and lightning flashes endlessly, when moments pass and memories engrave in memories, what we had will pass down as something I couldn’t have exchanged for anything.

The conversations are edged in a museum of memory where desires reign, wishes come to life, longings form the norm of every passing moment but the smiles smiled, laughter cracked, dates attended, desires fulfilled and moments not wasted make everything that’s of the past worthwhile.

I would like to tell myself everything is not broken because its human nature to be hopeful but I know the drift happened and so much water has passed below the bridge. Wishful thinking doesn’t alter the present, it makes the existence in memory more worthwhile.

The same compassion, genuine concern, generosity and brutal honesty that characterized that friendship is something irreplaceable.


I am your perfect thing,
Why can’t you believe me when I say am your king,
I want you in my arm to cling,
Please be the queen you are,
For this is our time, and for no reason will we part

I want you to be the one, I want you to be the person
that touches my heart and makes it skip a beat,
I want you to be that person whose arms makes me to just melt,
I want you to be the person that am destined to be with.
But am afraid to hit play I can’t dance anymore

Talking of dancing,
I want to feel your hips swinging,
To the melody of not just our heartbeats but life’s glorious musings,
I want to feel your passion burning,
As I hold your hand and press myself to you with longing.
I want to be your destiny,
Not just a journey,
That lands you into another’s arms…

Let me not ruin your life,
let me not break your heart,
Let me not rip your world into little pieces,
let me not destroy you,
because I would never forgive myself

I will see you soon. It’s not a promise but a statement of intent. I hate those. Statements of intent. I prefer reporting to planning. That’s how action oriented I have been wired to be. Its who I am when I am not clinging to the broken snippets of my being. But you saw me through that brokenness.

Let me finish up on this report…


The authorKen

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