We are all fools “IN LOVE.”

Episode 3

“If we were a love story

The poet would inscribe words in a paper

He'd comb the forest searching for the best metaphors

To tell you that Love is You

Oxymorons would place Friends and Enemies on a sentence and still make Sense

Begging Paradoxes to write you a letter telling you

That truly you were my better half

We'd implore the Device of Flashback

To remind you that at some point in my life

I felt like I was created to never meet the right person

But though I kept searching

And then one day I met you here

On the pages of a book

It was supposed to bring my story Doom

But instead it felt real...

For a moment I thought I wasn't a mere Character in a love story

But a lover in reality

And maybe I'm discharging my roles as a persona by loving you

But someone out there wrote this

Someone is the Author of this.

Literary works of art told me that the fact something isn't real doesn't mean it doesn't exist

I may be just a poetic persona

But Ehiz Wrote this...

He loves you.”

Ehiz Wright.

Dear Friend,

I’m sorry, I haven’t been writing into you for quite some time, especially not one that hits so deep in my soul, I hope you don’t mind if I go off the tangent.

I am no longer drunk in this feeling, I now live in it. I love that he is who he thinks he is and the way he makes me feel—The way he look me in the eyes when we talk, the way he pulls me to him when he sense a change in my demeanor, and that he hug me longer than most people do. He’s kind, affectionate, thoughtful, so funny, silly and loving, and hardworking, and have dreams, and that he’s so interesting, the highlight of everything is  he will get emotional and is not ashamed by that. It’s beautiful and inspiring and makes me feel comfortable letting my guard down. Around him, I feel safe and protected.

I really didn’t think there was a too soon or too late. I was so confident about HIM. So confident in myself, that something about it seemed foolproof. Then it did happen, we were both in his room. I was wearing my multi colored knit sweater. The one with a double knitted hem and pockets in the end of the hem that I could put my hands in it when it was cold. I wore it on my favorite black fitted jeans.

We both laid next to each other. I’m astounded at how well he understands my body. I didn’t need to tell him what I wanted. He knew. He knew how to kiss me. He knew where to put his hands, how to touch it. Every time we kiss, it’s as if we leave more of ourselves inside the other.

                We were both vulnerable

He stood up abruptly, scraped the chair in his room and sat in it. I pondered on what had happened. “Did he not enjoy the moment?” His fingers punched his phone keypads for a very long time, bile hits the back of my throat, and I swallow repeatedly to keep it down. Then he raises his chin and meets my eyes. When his eyes meets mine, he had a huge smile on his face. I continue to swallow not sure if I’m supposed to just lay in bed and allow those dark eyes watch me. I hardened my eyes, a silent reprimand. I watch his flat mouth open ready to say words that would enamor me and sweep me to the floor—yes, I want to be a tiles now. “Check your dm.” He said.

                     He sent a love note

               It was our mensiversary.

I’d have boyfriends before, fray sexual relationships, Situationships, even. But I’d never come close to imagining life with someone else until that moment. I looked in his eyes and I saw life.

This story is faulty, mentally unstable and high tension levels.

DO NOT READ FURTHER

Human.

Wilful

Carry on.

I was attuned to every details of him—his breaths, his eyes, his hands, his skills, his stories…everything about him. I needed to be what made him happy, what made him smile. And for a while, I was. He loved me more than he loved anything or anyone. I was his “Lady Gaga.”

Until he discovered the only thing that meant more to him than I did.

WEEKS AFTER 5 MONTHIVERSARY

It has been two weeks but there has hasn’t been a day that has gone by when I haven’t thought of him.

Sometimes I remember the way he smelled youthful after he’d run under the shower. Or I wonder whether I’d like the movie he just saw—he loves watching movies a lot, I’d always watch some secretly whenever he posted a review about any movie. Other times, I just think about his smile. I think about how his eyes would pucker and I’d always fall a little bit more harder in love with him.

I think about how he would touch me…how I would run my fingers on his dark chocolate skin I could spend half a day caressing. I think about that a lot.

The more I thought about him, the more it hurts. He commands my emotions, test my confidence, and haunts my every thoughts.

         The memory of him hurts so much—

      I should be kissing you not missing you.

Love always

Mimi.

To be continued…