I still wear your shorts
By Obamwonyi Theresa
5 min Read
You are like a dream in my head.
A sweet, sour, sad dream.
I recall you,
How far above you looked,
How I always had to tilt my head to see your smile.
I dream of nights filled with that soft bread you always liked to buy, the fried eggs and then the pulpy orange juice.
Remember the night you scrubbed me clean?
As though you were washing away the stains of the men who had broken me and left my body in scars?
I remember Ellie Goulding’s voice blasting off speakers while we laid bare insecurities.
It was perfect.
We were perfect,
Lying down, cuddle up, with fingers searching for curves and spots uncharted.
It was perfect,
Until your phone rang in the middle of the night,
and how you had asked me to step outside because you wanted to go on a video call with your girlfriend.
It was 1am.
It was cold.
It was twenty minutes, and I was back in your arms
Listening to words slip through your silver tongue.
It was both enchanting and confusing, to be so loved, but yet so lost.
How can one man be heaven and all of hell at the same time?
With you, my heart was a constant symphony of fire and ice.
A faint part of me recalls the fifth time we had said goodbye for the last time.
And how you stood at the window of my bus at the station,
Not wanting to leave,
How you stayed till I could no longer see you,
I remember how my throat clogged up,
How I never wanted to leave.
Do I miss you?
Maybe. Maybe Not.
I just want you to know,
I still wear your shorts.
Dreamer with the weirdest imaginations,
Hopeless romantic and lover of ripe plantains.
Writes codes and reads for fun
I bite my nails when I am bored.