I am a few days past 23, with a dozen questions in mind, like how you keep going with all these strains pulling you down. At least at my age you had me,a collection you wrote on, sacrificed dreams burnt to keep me warm throughout the lonely nights he wasn’t there to nature what he had burdened you with.
It’s just you and I, my siblings as our kids, can’t get a woman by my side for they can’t circum to half the woman you are, I ain’t so good to you, spend some time away way too long to not come home baring smiles, cherish and loved, embraced and yes, yes I speak highly of you in your absences.
This joy I ought to feel, a thrill, it passed before you actually felt it’s presence, they are a lot of silent letters in words, more in a sentence, you can share stake & be kept silent partner like a secret lover.
“We all need something on the side “
Uncle said over a conversation about how you can’t make it with one source of income.
This love I long to feel, a Sunday morning type of love, hearty cuisines and then you off churching, preacher preach for I have bread to break as soon as you say Amen, amen.
It hurts how I carve my life around a woman, grow into her shell, move alongside her until she discards the shell for a new season and you left stagnant, helpless, all you’ve worked for and towards leaves you in the same place you began, lost and in hope someone will wear that shell and fit into it, as she shines in smooth skin not a day old.