by Adeola Juwon
It’s 6:55 in the evening. My once boisterous street is erringly silent– restless children caged within the walls of single rooms.
A lone figure is on the street, his phone pressed to his face as he paces up and down. He intrigues me, this lone man, what with his hair dyed gold and the dragon tattoo on his arm. His face is new here. No one wears a tattoo on my street.
He drops the phone and puts it inside the pocket of his grey jalamia. A figure is walking towards him. His countenance changes when he sees her. His mouth splits into a smile as he opens his arm. The figure, Ola, melts into his arm with the ease of butter to bread. They’re still in each other’s arm. These two, they’re lost in a world of their own.
He has released her now; he’s holding her on her shoulder, looking into her face while his mouth says words I can’t hear. I wish the air can carry his words to me – the words that make Ola’s face flush red, her shoulders vibrating as she giggles.
He bends to press his lips on hers. She meets him halfway by standing on her toes. Sloppy kisses are being exchanged. She’s clinging to him like a cloth clings to a wet body.
They’re walking away now, hands locked, her head resting on his shoulder.
I look at my watch. It’s still 6:55. Maybe time really stops when two souls cling, when lovers kiss.