I write you, Chukwuemeka into existence as the man of my repairing heart. It took ages for you to finally look at me, if she had lived I doubt I’d have your eyes on me for a second. Always scanty you were, always her, watching you pick yourself back up after I bid farewell to good rubbish was as saddening as when she was alive.
Trying to pull a move then would have been fatal, you were still too fresh, too warm, I feared I’d ruin you like cold coffee. Yes my thoughts were selfish, toxic and so mind draining even for me as the conjurer of my own thoughts.
But now I’m determined to be free from the hopeless feeling when you hold her waist, her eyes laying lazily on the ripples of your body, your tainted skin with her claws....fingers crawling all over them, I laid in the shadows hearing the joy and pleasing cries, I was mad to think of staying hidden, watching you consummate. To be free my mind of the various thoughts of 'what if'
Funny how I’m not even capable of keeping you as a mine in writing, my own fingers betraying me.

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