Memory Keeper

Oh how I dislike that we only speak when I reach for you first. And not even for the weight of something defined.
Just… this.

This almost-friendship. This undefined middle where nothing can be expected yet everything is still felt.

Because who are you?
My friend?
Friends don’t make silence feel heavy.. personal.
And yet how can I desire more?

So I file us under “acquaintance” like a technicality. Like a way to make my reaching out sound smaller, more reasonable, less embarrassing.

And.
Even there, I dislike that I am still the one who reaches. And I wonder whether it isn’t normal. Sure friendships ebb. And people get busy. Not everything is a big deal.

Yet.
It keeps feeling like this.
Because especially in friendship, there is a rhythm. A returning. A mutual remembering.

Isn’t friendship supposed to be the highest of all human connections?

So why with us does it feel like I am the memory keeper. The one who circles back. The one who makes sure this friendship does not quietly dissolve.

And I don’t know what’s most crass.. that I care enough to maintain this, or that you don’t seem to notice when I don’t. Oh how I dislike how undefined gives you room.

Room to be thoughtful when I text, and absent when I don’t. Room to respond without ever initiating. Room to exist in my life without ever having to claim a place in it.

Room to hold this space, this careful, breathable space where I can still reach for you without reciprocation.

Call it friendship.
Call it nothing.
Call it whatever makes it easier to press send.

SURFACE LEVEL

I wanted to call you today. Because I miss the melodic rhythm of your voice in my ears. To say that the sound of your voice softens my shoulders. That I enjoy watching the proud glimmer in your eyes when you make me laugh.. that look that says you recognize yourself in my joy.

I wanted to send you a selfie without filters. Because you asked me to never edit myself. At midday on a Monday so you can smile like you just remembered the lyrics of a lost song. And for a moment I felt safe enough to. I really did, for a fleeting moment.

I wanted to share that quiet intimacy of knowing each other. Outside of desire. In the comfort of ordinary days, and random texts. Of sitting with each other where words are not measured.

I wanted to meet you in the depths.To ask about the things that don’t fit neatly into casual conversation. To linger in the spaces between your words, where our souls speak each others language.

I wanted to finish writing this ode to you. But that’s too risky, ain’t it? Nonchalance is in fashion, innit?

Forgiveness

Forgiving is pretty easy.

To easily let go of pain and hurt,

Because you see the human behind the offence, and

Want them to have the dignity that comes with being pardoned.

However... being betrayed reveals that forgiveness isn't the end.

That there is a hell lying in wait, ready to consume this innocent soul,

To tear apart at the pieces you strain to hold together,

And the sweet embrace of nightmares consoles like fantasies. 

Every broken piece of your heart becomes like a broken mirror.

Now you see too many unclear images, a jumbled up reflection.

Trusting seems like the foreplay to more pain.

Interacting with love has shown you that:

    This your heart cannot bear every weight it claims,

    Your nine hearts would shatter into million fissures,

    A chaotic canvas of storms weathered.

This Nairobi love has shown you that:

    Forgiveness is not a magic spell that mends all wounds,

    It neither erases the scars nor rewinds the clock,

    It's a fragile bridge dangling over currents of doubt.