About last night.

In the glum darkness of the night, I sat up on my bed. My heart heavy as wet laundry. My tongue stuck to my palate, my eye balls hid under its lids in despair. I straightened my skimpy clothes and considered the life I was given. Contemplated on every opportunity presented, the decisions I made, the experiences I had, the pain I carried, and the tears I wiped.

The sound of thunder and lightning alarmed me and I looked at the fierceness of the bolts savage through my window. I watched nature in action from my melancholic room as the curtains swayed in the mild wind. Is the weather outside painting the accurate picture of the turbulence in my heart? Thoughts rummaged once again pressing my spirit to the lowest pit and I partially went deaf in the ear and numb in my being for a brief while.

Why is it I always feel like I am walking on a rope, why can't I take risks, face challenges and make something out of myself? Why can't my stomach be flat and legs be slim like its meant to be, why can't I have eyebrows that are arch shaped and not like a straight line drawn by a child. I investigated and dissected every meaningful, trivial situation I was ever a part of. Shed drops of salted distress on forgotten heartbreaks, unsavoured relationships, awkward moments, meaningless friendships, self pity and the need for validation.

Sometimes, we women look into our entire lives because we want to be in control, some other times it's just PMS.

Beware of the office flirt.

I have an appetite for unhealthy food and so does my heart for unhealthy relationships. The desire to feel belonged is the first hit of shovel on the grave of independence. Being in a relationship; the idea of someone dominating you out of their possessive love for you is what romantic best sellers are made of and what unadulterated teenagers in their adolescent prime crave for. But that is not what a liberal, forward thinking, independent girl like me can stick up with.

Boys come in all sizes and shapes (pun unintended, really). Yeah, there are the cute ones with vacant brains, the brainy ones with narrow minds, the douche bags border-lining as smarty pants and the wannabes trying to scale up at their charismatic game.

Every girl loves a little pampering, unfiltered compliments, a little tongue in cheek moments when *conversing* with the guy she is crushing on. You know the coquettish behaviour of flirtatious laughs, uncontrollable giggles and obvious drooling action? Yes, we all love it but hey, don't interpret all that coying to be a green signal to take things to the next level, cause buddy there is no next level in office flirting unless you are immature, sad and do not see your self-worth or is driven on attaining your full potential.

I am all in for socialising, cracking up, chilling out, even sharing inappropriate jokes and stuff, but hey, know what you want. Stay focused, don't let the circumstances take its own course, be in control. Besides, some people are really sweet, don't lead them (read as use them) if you're not planning on receive them at the other end.

He played me

I'll call you back, he said.
She waited for hours, expecting.
His sweet words of simple pleasures lured her.
She lolled around with never-ending anticipation.
He had promises of hope and care.
She surrendered to petty joys.
And succumbed to trivial temptations.

Hold on and let go.

Baby I love you.
But there's nothing we can do.
There's a time and place.
We don't have either.
I know you still want to do it.
And you think I don't love you enough.
I love you more, you may not know.
I say no because of the pain
You and I should endure.
I say we leave it here.
You say we go all the way.
And leave from there.

Lost love.

He fought with my classmate so he can be my partner in terrace shuttle. He smiled at me when he won him over. We were 7.

When we came near the car park, he eyeballed me to make my dress right as my petticoat strap was seen. He smiled at me when I pushed it in. We were 15.

He surprised me by standing outside my gym with an umbrella on a rainy day, he smiled at me when he saw how special I felt. We were 18.

He accompanied me on a long journey for my personal work. He didn't want me going alone. He asked me to rest my head on his shoulder when returning home in the train. He smiled at me when I shyed away. We were 21.

After many fights and heartbreaks, I asked him if we can start afresh. He said he is too hurt to invest in me again. I smiled at him because I knew we were coming to an end and I needed to protect myself. We were 23.

I accidently looked behind and he was there. It's on a Friday, please come, I said. But I didn't write him a card. He smiled at me and I felt nothing. We were 25.

I stalk him on social media sometimes. I listen to the song he composed and played for me. I recall all the priceless moments of joy we shared. He still smiles but not at me. We are 27.

Letting go.

How?
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In Jesus Name.

The end.