There’s another writer here with me for her first time, my friend, sister and darling, Okaima (@kimeclectic). We wish we could perform it, live for you all but since we cannot.. well, have a good read.
LISTEN TO OKAIMA…
He went away with me…
I hear laughter and I get the joke. But why are you all laughing? Why do your eyes , dancing back and forth with mirth and the jerking of your shoulders mock me? Don’t you dare throw yourself on my body as you laugh like you are being paid to do it. It is not funny. I am not laughing. My eyes do not sparkle and dance. There is no mirth.
He took that away.
My bed and my pillow. I still have those but they aren’t soft anymore. The wrinkle free sheets do not wrap me up in comforting coldness as I lie on it. My pillow does not absorb the stress from my head and work the kinks out of my neck. Instead they stimulate my hippocampus, bringing back memories. Reminding me of what was, what could have been and what is not. Reminding me that I am all alone in my inadequacy. Reminding me that my phone is not going to ring, he is not going to call to say good night or wake me up in the morning with a text. And as I remember this I toss and turn, repelling sleep far away from me.
My bed and pillow, once upon a time a balm for my aching body. They have thorns now.
Did he do that too?
That shirt is not lovely. Maybe it is, but what do I care? Yes, I can see there is a full moon out, and so what? You say the movie is nice and I believe you but I really could not give less of a damn. Oh yes, I see the baby stealing glances at me. She wants to play. She is cute; cuter than my butt. I see her smile and hide her face in her mother’s blouse. I want to smile back, I want to wink and pinch her cheeks but I pull up blanks as I try. There is nothing here. It is all black and blemished dirty ‘has been’ white. You all look the same, faceless and featureless moving as one unit. All the same. I could not care less what the colour of the sky is or whether the sun is cruel or how fierce the wind blows. It is all the same.
He took the colours away too.
I hear you. You do not have to repeat yourself, stupid!. I hear you, but the thing is I have a response and an opinion but it is somewhere in my head. Locked up and I cannot find the keys. I do not have the keys.
You like me? You want to love me? You think I am beautiful? You really need to shut up you know? You sweets words, your promises, your grand gestures; they are the thorns on my bed. The steel in my pillow. You really need to shut up. Do not look at me, do not even see me. Oh, you do? Pretend you do not because there is nothing here. He took everything else but forget to take away the shell. Now the shell is out on display for you all to look at, pity and try to fix. Do not look at me.
I was me and I was all I had. I was scared to show him me because that was all I had and if it was not enough, I had nothing else. Slowly but surely my layers unraveled and I embraced him with my essence. I let him in.
But all I had was not enough and walking away was not an option. He had already seen me! He had to love me. My bones melted and I lost my form, I morphed into anything and everything he wanted. His voice was mine and my hands were his.
It was not enough and now there is nothing
He walks away now with every bit of me in his pocket.
And I do not think he knows it.
… Or maybe he does. Maybe he knows that my life was built around him; maybe he remembers all the crap I brought with me into the relationship; maybe his conscience says “At least, you helped her dispose all that.” Maybe he is aware of the emptiness his absence has brought me… Or maybe not.
There were days when I stayed in bed and wept; so much so that when mom asked why my eyes were red, I said I had conjunctivitis. Those days when smiles and laughter were too expensive, and all I could afford were tears. Those days when I prayed to God asking him to let demons possess the new girl (if there was) so she would mess up and make him realize my worth. I begged God to make him come back, or at least, give him the heart to forgive me for doing nothing wrong; to forgive me for loving him too much and teach me to love him just the way he wanted.
He has probably moved on… He has probably brought light into another female’s life; or she, his.
People ask about who I’m dating, and when I say I’m single, they conclude (illogically), that my standards are too high. Can’t a girl be with someone she truly loves? Is that too much to ask? Is that the definition of high standards?
A guy once said to me, “You can’t be single. You are every man’s dream.” Of course! How then does someone intentionally abort a good dream? How? To wake up and live the dream? And change the characters in it as he so pleases? And leave the main character in the real dream idle?
Then it dawns on me.
The choice, really, is mine. To spend the rest of my life, playing audience while he lives his dream with his new star (and others to come) or to leave the stage and find my own dream?
You know, it is true what they say; instead of looking for the right person, work on yourself and the right person would find you.
So, the deal is to hone my skills, take one or two auditions (if need be)… That way, when the big job comes, I’d be prepared for it.
Broken bones hurt but so do healing bones. One is the pain of tearing apart; the other is the pain of healing. Watching myself come together, piece by piece, splinter by splinter. Getting it all wrong and then starting all over again. Falling down and reaching out for familiar support and finding none. Learning to do it all by myself. Having forgotten who I was, I am at loss as to who I should be. So every day I morph into something new, try it on for size and then discard. Searching and looking for all I once was.
And maybe more.
Oghogho Omorotionmwan is a freelance blogger who enjoys gisting, sleeping and surfing the net. She is also very interested in fashion. She is currently a Geology major at the University of Benin, Benin-city. You can follow her on twitter @owggee