I’ve been here before

This dance of the getting acquainted

I know you

Maybe not you, you

But I’m familiar with your kind

With your fancy words and flowery speak

Refreshing, like a cold glass of water on a hot Lagos day

You are the words and the actions and the gestures that I love

I allow myself be entertained, but I can’t allow myself get comfortable

I know this song

This is how it always begins

Earnest words and steady hands

Drawing me in like a siren

How long till the song changes?

I know this place

I’ve never been here, but I’ve thought about it, written about it and seen it through the eyes of…


I think of you whenever I come across that name. Maybe think isn’t appropriate. Because when I say think, what I mean is that I get hit by a wave of nostalgia so strong it makes me dizzy. It’s been 18 months since I last heard from you, and even longer since I last saw you, but what makes this even more strange is that Julien is not even your name. It’s the name of the cafe where you first told me that you love me.

The Julien in front of me is looking at me concerned, like he does not understand what he has said to make me recoil in such a manner. …

Fuss over fuss

So I sent Clouds and feathers to my friend, and he loved it so much he wrote a response.


We are like a coalescence of contraries. I can see that I am sin and saint and that for you, my Adam’s apple isn’t forbidden enough. We are the warmth before the compatibility, The preconditions before the achievements. I do want to marry you. And I know it’s too soon, but how else was i suppose to react to the happy depression of falling for you?

I am home now, happy to see my wife and sad to be away from you. She senses the mood and pries, I gently nudge her away, ours is a love like water, but there is currently fire in my eyes. I am fantasizing about drinking you in, feeling your warmth, Being the sandstorm beneath your skin in hopes you will not develop cold feet. The discomfort is too weak to fight the desire, I am not allowed this infidelity but with you, I will keep every word. …

Clouds and Feathers

There’s a difference between your knowledge of the possibility of an occurrence, preparing for that occurence, and then your reaction when said event occurs.

Which is why even though I expected you to kiss me, I know now that I could not have prepared for the way the kiss made me feel. I definitely could not have prepared for what came after.

We are sitting in your car, in front of my house. It has been 20 minutes since we got here, so by now, the conversation has evolved from commentary about the restaurant we just ate in to epistles about belief, faith and destiny. Our voices have softened to almost whispers; tender and intimate, just like the moment. I have stopped feeling so conscious about how my camisole has moved so much to display a nice portion of my cleavage, and I am laughing at something you are saying when I feel your eyes leave my eyes, drop down to my cleavage, pause for a beat and then come back up to my lips and linger. …

Parents do not realize the damage their occasional slight remarks cause. It is not their fault really. Some times they just do not realize they have forgotten to turn their internal filter on. If they do realize what they have said they make the mistake of assuming that little ones will not remember or that the words they string together won’t make an impression, an indelible print in their little one’s life.

Once; when I was nine years old and my breasts were smaller than tear drops and my belly shot out like I was playing mummy, I had tied my teddy bear underneath my top with my small wrapper. My mother had given me a gentle but firm poke in the belly and said, “My round girl, see your tummy! …

I bring myself back from the haze that I have slipped into and suddenly the slew of papers in front of me looks like one big mess and not the medium for the channeling of my creative juices moments before. How does one take stock of the year that I just had?

Doubt is an interesting thing.

It starts off as you being logical. You tell yourself that you have to make some accommodation in your mind for the possibility of your plans falling through. Then it becomes all you think about and soon, there are no maybes, no possibilities. Just the certainty that everything you want, everything that you have planned and hoped is somehow not possible, because there is no reason it should it happen, for you of all people.

I do not think that I am the worst person in the world. I mean, I have done some really terrible stuff but I do not think that it is an exact reflection of the person that I am. …

You must think I am strong.

That this is what moving on looks like.

Not that I am not, strong I mean. You think you see it in the way I now treat you. In the way that I am distant, aloof.

You must think that you know where I’m at.

The place where this is not that deep, where I am over it.

Clean slate, never happened and such and such.

What you don’t know is that I am tired.

That I am anything but what moving on looks like.

Tired of hurting. Tired of missing you. Tired of being strong so that you don’t know exactly what it is that you did. How you took something, so pure and light and sweet and precious and ruined it. …

Wouldn’t life be a lot simpler if falling in love was a science?

Maybe not. I think it might be a bit more straightforward, but maybe not simpler.

Sometime ago, I came across an Interesting post about a Formula for falling in love.

I am not sure that I believed that I would fall in love, but I was curious enough to want to try. It took me almost a year since the first time I read the article to find someone that I wanted to try with, you know, in case it actually worked.

But before that, I read everything there was to know about it. …

How do you know?

The first tell is the anger.

You get so mad at the little (or sometimes not so little) things that they do. Things that you normally, would not even notice. The anger starts from your chest. Deep and rich and then it makes it’s way to your face and neck, and makes it hot. You usually do not get angry, so it is a bit difficult for you to understand. Anger, so alien and irrational it does not feel like your own.

The Second, the Fear.

Crippling and real and present.

One, That this person, could be making an intentional mockery of you. Asking questions, unraveling things, with no real desire to explore, no actual need to learn you. …

On Valentine’s day yesterday, I cried.

Obviously, one of my goals for the year is to write more. So in the course of this, or attempting to, I have discovered that I have put restraints on my emotions. I do not exactly think it is my emotions themselves but the expression. Somehow, I have lost the willingness to accept my emotions and in turn express them. I guess it stemmed from the fact that I felt like I was… too much to say the least. Now, I may have become a bus stop away from too little. I have put barriers on myself, pressing my emotions down even when I don’t need to. Measuring everything; 2 screams of anger at this occurence, A squeal of joy at this instant, extra helpings of irritation because irritation is never enough. …



Sometimes I think I have to wash my mouth out with soap.

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