Fiction. Poetry. Kenyan.
She would sit naked on my couch, eyes scrunched up in concentration, stretching only once in a while. Scratching a few…
You wonder why you are not excited to be on the road home
Well, probably because
Sometimes home is a wound that never healed
Home is the first love you never got over
It takes a moment for everything to settle.
You and I will never belong to each other again.
You and I will never lose each other again.
No matter how many times I convince myself I have moved on.