Dear Naomi.

By Peace Nkanta


Harry chose to stop running down that flight of stairs with you because it became boring, long before you realized. His joy was not in stopping, it was in finally finding the courage to let you go.

Those days when he didn’t show emotions when you tickled, or groan when you put the tip of your tongue to his navel, were not because he didn’t feel anything; he just didn’t know if he was secure enough to whimper or moan around you.

He didn’t know. Your face never told him. It remained ever so emotionless, choosing carefully what to display.

And your words? They stayed same when you spoke them to him, having no effects; because some now and then, they were repeated to the ears of several other men.

“Jokingly”, you would defend, but he did not know whether you knew that you both knew that your soul was a hollow pit seeking to be filled, hence being presented wholeheartedly, albeit unknowingly, to each person who slightly tapped or knocked on its door.

He still feels the warmth of your hands on cold nights, and desperately wants to save himself from the things he imagines each time he rolls a tiny, hard nut between his fingers before chewing, or buries his head in an arc of a watermelon fruit.

I doubt you would spend much time worrying about the whereabouts of that fork he bought specially for you because you wouldn’t eat with a spoon. Remember how it became the magic to tame those wild menstrual cramps?

He giggles each time he remembers you’d grown to believe the lie that it cured you instead of the warm honey he used it to feed you.

You were funny each time you wanted a spoon instead, and he would say ‘No, Miss Fork. Your faith in forks has to make you whole’; and because you understood that another way, you’d shoot a savage look, and send him reeling with laughter.

Naomi, the clouds no longer look beautiful. When he gets out of jail, he might need help staying away from your daughter. Always and forever, he will believe you reincarnated. Just why it had to be through another man, is what he refuses to understand.

Naomi, he wants you again; this time, through him. Till then when you shall come, you both will meet again in your daughter’s bed.

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