Like electricity wires; red, yellow, green, white and black – we are so different yet can’t work without one another. We are so hot, even when times are cold. We are so on, even when the lights are out. We are so happy, even when the world isn’t. We are so bright, even when it’s dull outside. Inside, our light burns so bright, even without fuel. Short circuit or perfection, our only rule of law is to dream big, and make love.
Like bees are to sweet-smelling flowers, my body gravitates towards your hues. Your soft pastels fused in my crayon make me lose control in a kaleidoscope. I can’t cope with you, and I can’t cope without you. But I can Warhol us into some kind of work. I am not sure if it will make it into any sort of hall of fame but inside our little frame; it matters a lot that we are Impressionists. We want to paint using the colours of love even in pain. We want to pay for more even in loss. We want to recreate our dreams and repaint our sorrows. We want so much, yet a little bit of us lies between our work table. More for less.
As I gaze at lost scenes, in which we used to star in, and the things we used to do, I feel sad. I feel bad that we knew what it meant to love but never met each other half way across the journey. I am sorry I lost you. I am sorry you lost me. I am sorry you don’t see my beauty anymore. I am sorry I don’t see your charm, candour or through your eyes anymore.
Why must I see your shadow everywhere I go?
I spot a man in a well-fitting suit and think of you. I wonder what kind of style you dig; and if love is a type of ocean, how deep would you sink? Would you float in emotions and let it carry you away? I see a man in headphones and think of you. I wonder if I’ll forever be alone or like the music he listens to, soothes his heart; you will be to me, you will be mine. Like fine wine, I want a love that matures into fruition. I want a love that takes me to a place of no contemplation but satisfaction and guarantee that my partner will be by my side; to tuck me in, hold me close, make me tea, share everything; from life’s teachings and challenges to achieving the highest chi.
I spot a man holding his partner lovingly and think of you. I wonder what kind of arms and hands you have. I wonder if they are strong enough to shelter me from the storm. Are they able to carry me home when I am injured, hurt, lonely, troubled or in need of our silent and peaceful place? Your hands must be made to fit in mine, for I haven’t yet met someone whose hands locked in mine, felt perfect. I haven’t yet met someone whose love fused in mine felt absolute and doubtless. I think of your lips. How will they taste in mine? Maybe as fresh as our love or tasteless, for we will be one of the same in disguise of a kiss.
I spot a smart, caring, brilliant, supportive and understanding man and think of you. Are these some of your qualities? Are these the qualities that make a man? I need you to be more than these qualities. Your presence will be a rarity, for like a gem you must be; hard to find and hard to tap. Like a game I must be, hard to pin and hard to trap. You will be man enough to say you are sorry and man enough to prepare a meal for your lady. I will be woman enough to surrender to all your needs. Your first job will be taking care of me and us, before anything else. Your drive will be my passion and together with our love we’ll mould our relationship’s strongest quality.
For a brief moment human beings brush shoulders with déjà vu. All of a sudden, people, places and things start to exist within us. Like hues, we can see what can’t be touched. We can taste and tersely grasp at what we don’t have. In the moment, the dead come alive. We create new people. Unrequited love is requited. And lost ones like moments return. Nostalgic songs and voices become brand new—the magic hardly lasts. In this moment, the skies are blue and the breeze is whispering into my ear. In this moment I stop to gaze at the world. I stop to gaze at myself though the mirror. Inspired, I realize that I write you love poems, but you never read any. That’s just because I have met nobody but your shadow.
I love the way it feels. This thing called happiness. It’s like a long-lasting taste of Apple Waffles and syrup. It’s like a non-hasty affair that leaves the inner soul able to feel free. I love the way it feels. This thing called friendship. It’s like a strong old rope, passed on land and into the seas, beat and weathered, and we are its strands intertwined. It’s like how good wine feels down the throat, and unrelated, how secure it feels just to stand by you. I love the way it feels. This thing called music. It’s like the drug I never took that leaves me high and sometimes jet-lagged, yet I never really left the ground. It feels as good as when we sway to the beat. The same way, I want to hear your heart beat, rhythmically. I love the way it sounds: Bang. Bang. Bang. I love how the business of loving life, and loving you feels. It’s like a great song without any words. Portions of love, easier felt than said.
For you birthday, I decided to do something different. Leave some graffiti on your wall in form of a poem. Today you are older. You are wiser and smarter. Yesterday you were all these things but a little less. Embrace the growth that comes with each day. As you take onto another year, cherish the abundance of life’s simplicity. Take a train, take a matatu ride, take a ballon ride, take a tuk tuk, take a chance and then take a risk. Like the rocky motion of travel is life, necessary for any journey we take. Challenging, sometimes spicy and enchanting. Be ready to be challenged. Cherish simple networks and friendships, ignited by chance sometimes they start a spark that shines brighter and longer than we expected. Thanks for being a great friend and I wish you well today and always.
It doesn’t matter that it’s raining today. Inside my heart you always reign and just your sight brings me sunshine. We can cuddle under the duvet and watch the raindrops paint our window gibberish till our names somewhat reflect there. Because the mood is liquorish, we can eat up some liquorice chocolates then sip on some whiskey. Drunk in love like Jay and Bey, we can walk to the beach and make the night count. Like it’s the last day to feel the ground, we can make a castle and then draw our names in the sand. We can be reminded that like the sun rises and must set is life; as brief as our footsteps in the sand last.
It doesn’t matter that the phone is ringing. Inside my heart only thing worth picking is you, only habit not worth kicking is you. Even without calling me, I reckon that you are thinking of me. And like telepathy, I can’t stop thinking of you. Let’s get on this love train and never stop. Let’s go sight-seeing and visit the world. Let’s enjoy the rocky motion, as we rise and fall in love. Let’s allow this emotion to be the captain till we reach our destination. Let’s cherish our relations like it’s the first day. Let’s take it to the parish on the last day of this trip and make it official that we want to be uncovered.
BONUS: You might like this post’s prelude Sentimentally Un-covered
Like warm cotton, our hearts basked in the glory of sunshine. But suddenly darkness struck, and our lives were on the line. There was no time to cover our cloth, the rain caught on as fast at the storm. And to dry again, and feel as good on our skin is difficult for the cloth – now wet and tattered. Putting together the pieces and wringing out the water is a task too daunting, daring and haunting. But from a far, the horizon is promising to open up memories. We must remember how it felt to be happy. We must remember how it felt to love. We must remember what it means to find closure. We must remember the good time; that brought us here. That little light opening in the dark skies is the reason why, our once prestigious cloth, now torn – can be mended. We are hurt. We are confused. We are clueless. We are in great loss. But what’s greater is our collective strength and art. That can help remake our cloth a new.
BONUS: A tribute to everyone we lost at the Westgate Mall Terrorist Attack (Kenya) and those who were left hurt, physically and emotionally.
We are like an interlude to a song, not too long or too short – just enough, but not a song. We are like electricity, necessary for lighting up the fire within but therein are too many wires we couldn’t fix, even if we wanted. We boast to both be technicians but we are haunted, there isn’t anything we can mend, and all that is left is our dreams in technicolour. We have not one distinct colour but resemble a rainbow, beautiful and eclectic yet eccentric. Like the break of dawn, we are a mix between dark and light – never really one – lovelorn; together but lone, we are love clowns. But this isn’t comedy because how you make me feel is remedy to everything. Despite our nuance and our nuisance, nothing matters. We don’t care that we are wasting time. We don’t care that we are like a ship sailing way off course. We don’t care that we’ve spun over and over again. We don’t care that we lost it; we only care that we love it, and the spur it gives.
I adore you. Because you are like a special revolving door, and every time I swing through, there’s something good inside of you. Though far away, you inspire me to dream. You inspire me to be loved. You inspire me to spread my wings to fly. You made me believe that my eyes are beautiful. Your love knows no boundaries. Thank you.