I met you at the store. You are tall, dark and handsome. You are Christian and Yoruba. You asked me out, I said yes. We went on a date, to a waterside restaurant. You said I had a pretty smile, I said I loved the food. We went on another date, and another, and another. You said I should be your girlfriend. I said yes.
You met my parents. My mother liked that you are Yoruba and Christian and rich. My father liked that you are a business man and you support Manchester United. I met your family. Your sisters liked that I am pretty. Your father liked that I have a Masters degree in Urban Design. Your mother liked that I am Yoruba and Christian and have wide hips to bear many children.
We went everywhere together. You took me to Terra kulture to watch the plays. I baked you cakes every Saturday. You gave me a warm feeling of hot chocolate at the pit of my stomach. You said you loved me.
I met him at the bank. He is muscled, fair and hunky. He put his hand on my lower back and whispered in my ear. We went to have drinks at the bar beside his office. He mixed me a drink and said I had long, hot legs. I giggled and grinned at his every joke. He asked me to be his. I told him I had you.
You asked me who he was. I said nobody. You asked me to marry you. I stuttered and stammered. I said no. You asked why. I said you gave me a warm feeling of hot chocolate at the pit of my stomach. But he made me feel like fire burned on my inside. I asked you what love was without passion. You said fire could die too. You cried. I left.
He took me to Brazil. He took me to a rock concert. We moved in together. He made me feel. He made me brim over with unbridled emotion. He said he didn’t believe in God. I said I did. We fought. Then we made up. We said we could create a balance. He said he didn’t want children. I said I did. We fought again. We didn’t make up.
I looked for you. I didn’t find you. I looked harder. Then I found you. You said you missed me. I said I did too. I said I was comfortable with hot chocolate at the pit of my stomach. You said you weren’t. You said you’d found another. That she said you gave her fire in her bones. That you loved her. I begged you. I cried. You hugged me. You left.
Happy Birthday to a maestro of words, my partner and friend – Bankole, Afroman. Please leave your comments below and don’t forget to send in your details to email@example.com if you’d like an invite to #TNC2.