Muscle memory

I slathered myself in coconut oil and had an epiphany.

I heard your voice and a thousand and one memories came to my head.

I laid on my bed and I remember the nights filled with whispered conversations, and the almost “I love yous" that I never said because hard guy.

I just got back to Lagos, and if I could love it anymore than I did before, I do now.

Lagos for me is filled with so much nostalgia and at times I just do things and it’s like muscle memory comes to play.

Like when you’re on an okada and you hit a bump and your thighs know just how hard to clench around the sides of the okada so you don’t fall off.

Or how you know to hold your breath when you’re passing that lawma dumpsite in Ikeja because the smell is a madness.

Or how your hands know not to release money to vendors in the traffic until they give you your change, if not, your money is gone.

Muscle memory for me is how my eyes roll back in my head every time I get that “hey big head" message, because it’s summertime and body dey scratch you.

My hands, I thought they’ve forgotten you. But I had a dream last night and I woke up to my fingers moving like they would in your hair.

Muscle memory is showing me I haven’t forgotten a lot of things, I just maybe filed them away.

But time has a funny way of putting stuff in perspective for people.

BTW, Sza’s CTRL Issa jam.

I’m missing people I have no business missing, but I can’t help it.

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