I moved to Michael's place two days ago.
The security guard in our street asked me this evening, "how your woman?" I told him she was fine.
I know who he's talking about. Praise. Then I think. Is she "my woman?" Or one of "my women?"
I settle for the latter.
I'm detaching. Slowly. It's a slow burn. I sense an explosion though.
This evening, she was a little violent as she asked about my welfare. I can be violent. I avoid my triggers like a plague. Like an abomination.
She somehow dances at the edge of my black hole.
I've talked to her about how I am. She seems not to be fine with it.
It's time to say goodbye, and if she doesn't accept it in the most gentle way I plan to offer it, I hope she is prepared to receive the whack of slammed doors.
I'm hungry. I should eat this bread and juice, but I fear I'll have an upset stomach. I can't use the toilet here. It's too dirty in my opinion. They didn't take as much care of it as they should. Nothing's changed much since I moved out of this compound.
I'm getting more hungry. I'll just eat up. Whatever happens, happens.
I miss Chidinma (Lover). I hope she's sailing through life as fluidly as she can. I hope the turbulence of life isn't hitting her so hard. It's been a while since I heard from her. She said to hold space for her as she wades through life's sea. It's a crazy world, sometimes.
I'll be here whenever she reaches the shore.
