THE DIARY/ …of my lover

...but the story always begins from the beginning But sometimes you tell from the end Because you can

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…And for me being in his presence alone was love making.
It was his silence I was drawn to
His subtle buried depression-ness
I could tell when he was staring at me
And I loved to think to myself that he was
When it was a smile that calmly and quietly fade away from his face and all settle quietly, even gets collected in his eyes
And sometimes I could wonder how anybody
Could look this captivating that I would break my thick walls for
He was the love of my life
There is something also about how he slept
I can clearly remember how he looked like a baby
Until I saw that I had always believed that expression to be an exaggeration
But he truly slept like a baby
In his faded t-shirt and jeans
I am sure he might have felt asleep soon after I did
But I was sleeping on his bed
And he had his hands clapped under his head
Subtle snore I could barely hear
And it was that same night I had diarrhea too
Up till now I sometimes wonder if he knew
I had diarrhea that night
His room had old chairs and an old Tv
And you can wonder what kind of millennial he was. But it is not as it is now.
You change sometimes for family.
No- we compromise.
It was those things about him that became like a
Sacrament to me.
At the left side of the room was also an
Old standing air condition he barely used
And I liked the size of his refrigerator then
Once he told me a story behind a book I was
yearning to have from his shelf.
A small packet Christian book his dad had given to him as a gift and till today I am obsessed with giving him pockets book. I think I have given him three or four.
He has the coolest smile I have been seen
Not until last year someone took that title
There’s also this thing about him
He always took life as it was
He often told me i worried a lot and it was true
-I lived to change things
-He lived to accept things and i am sure
that’s one of the reasons we never ended together
I was like a fading memory
An abstract silhouette
I understand if he couldn’t do anything
I couldn’t also
And his patient after all these years …
It’s like opening a door
Slamming it
Opening it again
Slamming it
And the door still knows you
And it will open for you when you want to
walk through
There’s something about writing in metaphors
It doesn’t hide a message
We write it in the hope that we will find
the best suitable expression for an exact situation
Shakespeare spoke about love that way too
And we think we can understand all of that?
Sometimes you don’t. You just admire it
Or fall in love with the confusion
It’s like sleeping and listening to a Spanish music
Or listening to the mass been done in Latin
It’s extremely beautiful
You don’t need understanding
You just need to be lost in it
And that’s how I am lost in this maze
Sometimes I feel my own story feels like a novel
And it’s the pain we go through that gives joy the ultimate power to humble us
And joy deserves it
Deserves to shake our beings and demand total surrender
People don’t understand but I do
In the swings of moments
The ones we regret and the ones we cherish
People don’t understand but I do
I can’t unlove
but the story always begins from the beginning
But sometimes you tell from the end
Because you can.

-Jo Nketiah
02-01-2020

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