There is something immensely enthralling and helplessly entrancing about kissing someone you truly love for the first time. A majestic tranquillity stirs in, and settles placidly on your weary nerves, just as dew descends on leaves on a misty morning. An unabashed sincerity drifts through your lips as they brush against theirs, and drifts through their lips too, when they have finally brought down their fortified walls (or parts of it) to allow the burning passion in you ignite and birth a tiny splinter of emotions in them. And then, there is the overwhelming realization that the tenacity of your love might finally be paying off, and maybe, just maybe, that fervent love is being requited.

It hits you suddenly, in that serene moment, that none of that can ever be enough. Nothing can ever be enough with them. You realise, even, how the world is not enough, and how it is unfair to your needs and hankerings and love. This gets you a tad angry and tired, and a lot more sad. Because even before the long ardent kiss comes to its inevitable end, you already hunger for more (the song “Oliver Twist” by Dbanj comes to mind here, and you just cannot help but giggle in the middle of the kiss). That terrific moment has voraciously birthed a premature nostalgia in your heart, one that manifests immediately, but shouldn’t have, until much later.

A cynic or satirist would consider this scarcely detailed narrative as fallacious and overly dulcified; a carefully knitted ideal description. I am certain such individual has not had the privilege, or luck, or grace, of falling so deeply in love with an absolute gem, a very rare one at that. They have not met Akanke, who rather I would call her Ajoke.

One of my favourite songs at the moment is “Shape Of You” by Ed Sheeran, particularly the line that says “Last night you were in my room, and now my bedsheets smell like you…” I smile sheepishly and remember you anytime I listen to that song (and I’ve listened to it countless times since it was released). To try to describe adequately the grandeur and the impeccable feeling that comes from having you sleep the night in my bed, would be a sure enfeeblement or enervation of its true magnificence. It would be almost impossible. So, I’d just rather not.

All of that is gone now, at least, for the time being. Till we meet again. I have an unfaltering belief that we will meet again. I’m left with that grim nostalgic feeling, and the piquant memories your essence left behind. It sounds sad and depressing, but it is not. I cherish it. I love it. I love you. All of what I feel for you, and the unmade promise of a future with you, is enough to keep me going. At least, it was. It was something euphoric to look forward to.

I understand it can be quite overwhelming, and was sometimes unnerving for you, to have someone feel this much about you, and most times, you didn’t even know where or how to start with requiting the affection. That is okay. I did not mean to deposit any pressure on you. Loving you is immeasurably beautiful. You loving me back, and having you in my life, was glorious and plainly indescribable. But then, who says “immeasurably beautiful” is not enough?!


Now that you have precociously paid the debt of nature, you have left my soul insanely lethargic. I have been riddled with an upsurge of unrestrained emotional anguish. It has left me helpless and weak, and I just do not know what to do. I do not blame you for it. None of it was your fault. I can only blame the overly ambitious cells in your lungs. Even then, amidst my grief and lonesomeness, and despite how earnestly my soul desiderates yours, I am remorsefully, yet genuinely glad that you have finally found refuge from the excruciating agony that characterised your last days. If by any chance you can read this from wherever you are, know that sooner or later, I will be there with you, and there will be no ending to that.


Akinpelu, Adewunmi O.

14/07/2017     13:52

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