I haven’t written in a while. it’s weird. I start most of my stories that way. It’s the people pleaser in me, I apologise. I feel the need to apologise to the one person who reads my blog for my absence. I’m an overthinker. I’ve always been. I’m listening to Levitation by Beach House. I get obsessive over songs sometimes. Like listening to them 300 times in a week, to scratch the itch. The moment that scratches my itch this time is the 30th second after the 2nd minute. I could have easily said 2:30 but sometimes, I feel the need to ramble on. Gotta hit that word count. Don’t blame me, blame my English teacher.

Anyway, this part of the song feels like a release. There’s honestly no better way to describe it. I feel like I’ve felt it before but I can’t really remember when, and if you don’t remember something, did it even exist? When a tree falls….

What kind of release? You decide. For me, it differs. On some days, it’s a really good orgasm that’s been escaping your reach. They tend to do that, you know? They hide and titter just out of reach. Or you might have the wrong one. Yes, that happens. So it’s a release but not the one you wanted, you know? Or maybe this is a unique experience that no one else has had. Other days, it’s a release I crave but haven’t felt. A release from responsibilities, and guilt. A release from fear. Do you know why most people don’t commit suicide? Fear of heights. 83% of people admitted that. I made that up. Anytime i make up a fake statistic, I use 83% because it’s such a ridiculous number of course it’s fake. I’m kidding of course, she is not ridiculous and I apologise for thinking that way. So, this release, it’s one you crave but can only feel once. I read in a book, every healthy adult must’ve felt like committing suicide at least once. Do you believe that? I don’t know. We are all just running around, headless chickens, not knowing anything, and thinking we are all alone in our aloneness.

Random: I think I used to be muchier, I’ve lost my muchness. But I think I’ve become muchier in a much more muchier way, but different.

So, this song makes me feel this way. Craving a release. I don’t know which one, maybe I just like music. I found out recently through an online test that I was both autistic and had adhd. It explains a lot to be honest. And I didn’t even score low, I’m very high on the spectrum. My parents raised me to be an overachiever, a high scorer. That’s funny.

But, I’ve actually..wait..can you start a new paragraph with but? Is it right? I like right things. And the things I don’t like, well, they’re obviously not right. **insert chuckle because I just realised I sounded like a trump supporter

I’m sore. And tired. And in a 7 hour flight. Do you know 83% of people will never get on a flight? Shocking, isn’t it? I know.

It was funny, how we met. Or maybe it was fate. Or just a coincidence. It just depends on what kind of person you are. We took the same train everyday, at the same time. It was inevitable in a way, but also, there were a lot of people i took the train with. And i didn’t fall in love with them. It was you. It had to be.

I think we both knew something was happening. Something out of a fairytale indeed. The prince sees the princess across a crowded room, or in our case, across a crowded train. The train stops again and more people get on. We all shift a little to accommodate them and somehow you ended up exactly in front of me. Holding the same damn pole. The energy was tense, at least for us. I doubt if the high school kids or the elderly women holding the same pole felt what we felt.

I keep going back to that first day, and the events that unfolded. What would i have done differently? Well, i would have gone a bit further back. I would have willed, nay, begged the universe to bring you to me 2 days, 2 weeks, 2 years earlier. Because then we would have had more time. Then we wouldn’t be here right now. I wouldn’t be here right now.

The only word i have for that day was “sweet”. Isn’t it weird that a day could be described as sweet? It was a sweet day because i had met you, and you had met me. You were shy but brave. It’s a weird combination but after having dinner with you once, that same day, i was used to the weird combinations. We both got off at the last stop and you walked with me a bit and then after realizing that you were “following” me, you said hi.

Hi. That’s all it took. It was so soft, so innocent yet completely changed my life. You completely changed me.

I hate commuting, the train makes me dizzy, everything makes me dizzy these days. I try the hacks, try to focus on one solitary object but i get sick of that pretty quickly. No sick pun intended. I do like the train because i get to watch people, people can be so interesting, their lives, or rather, the lives i have made up for them can be so interesting.

The old couple in front of me, they eloped when they were 25. They have no kids but they don’t need kids, they’re in a perfect bubble. Still every bit in love as they were 30 years ago. It’s refreshing. Relationships have been getting so much bad PR recently. It’s nice to have an example.

And yeah, we have the customary drunk man. One farted next to me last night and it scared me. Oh who am i kidding? Even the well dressed businessman in the suit scares me. Maybe it is the manness of it all.

Today is different, i feel different. Disconcerted.

Suddenly, someone starts being hysterical near me. It’s a little girl. She could not be more than 6 or 7. I look around to find an adult responsible for her, and weirdly, i seem to be the only one doing this. And get this, people are giving me weird glances. Me! What is this ?

She’s full on crying at this point. Still, no one gives her any attention, i try to move closer but i am a bit cautious as well. People are moving away from us. From me. I start to scream. We both do. “Help her!” “Don’t just stand there!” “Call someone!” What the fuck is up with the entire world today? Finally, the conductor on board seems to be coming towards me.

And that’s when i saw it. In a reflection in the window. There was no little girl. I’m taken aback. It couldn’t be. It’s not possible. This is the stuff of movies, I’m not even a fan of sci fi or fantasy. This was not happening to me. I had to be dreaming. And then i saw the reflection again.. her.. me.. we were…the same. How?

Do you ever see some people doing something and you’re like “yep, that seems right”, seeing a femi cheat, a tunde being intense but it’s not just the nigerian names. A nick nicks. And no, I’m not trying to say steal in a clever way. I just mean, a nick does what a nick is supposed ti do. A brian brians. You know? Or maybe you don’t. Im not makikg much sense. 

I have an alter ego, oh who are we kidding, i have a bunch. A notable one is Betty. For my anxiety. Betty is an anxious, sweaty white girl, she’s not the life of the party but also not completely drab. She masks. She hides her fears behind jokes and fun facts. She doesn’t show her feelings and unless you’re her cardiologist, you really don’t get to hear how fast her heart beats.

When she’s asked a question, when she has to speak up for herself. Speaking of speaking up for herself, pardon the pun, her eyes water, her lips quiver, her teeth chatters. She swallows her true words, the shouts stay contained in her head and instead she calmly says “oh, but i disagree”.

People tell betty she’s doing okay but she feels far behind. She knows she’s not supposed to berate herself but she can’t help it. Berated bitter betty. She hates herself. I feel for her you know? She’s just human. She isn’t on this planet to prove her worthiness. She is enough.

Is she numb? Maybe. She constantly bounces between feeling numb and feeling everything. Yet there is one thing alone that helps dispel that feeling. She knows it’s a bad habit. She can’t tell anyone. Her therapist would sigh with pity, anyone would if they knew her dirty coping habit. Still, it helps. Who are we to judge? When she holds that new blade against her wrist and slashes, all the voices stop, she can breathe again, her mind is focused only on the sweet sweet pain and every other pain ceases to exist. It calms her. Oh, how she loves it. And for the next 2 weeks, she picks at the wound until it calms her down again. 

There are several ways to make the voices stop.

I hesitate, which is better, the yellow scarf or the red. The red is silk so it hurts less. The yellow is longer though which fits better for my usecase. I take both and run for the tram. My friend thinks running for the tram is an ick. It can be. But I still do it.

I get to his apartment at half past 8 and the weed is starting to kick in, in the famous words of Olivia, I feel like I’ve seen much hotter men but I really can’t remember when. He bends down to kiss me and steps aside to let me in, his cats brush against me and I give one of them a quick cuddle and take off my coat, and then my jacket, and then my sweater. It’s winter. Dont judge me.

He already cued up Harry Potter: The prisoner of Azkaban, my favourite. I still get so shy around him, not harry potter. Him. “I got popcorn” “Me too” “Oh good, i got grapes” “Me too”. I look at him. He looks at me. We laugh.

We start kissing just as Snape starts teaching the class about werewolves, his lips are soft and taste like wine. I bite his top lip just a little bit and push myself into his hands..he moves backwards to give me more room as I take off my top. The only sounds in the room were our breaths as we take off our clothes. I always found stripping to go one of two ways, either incredibly awkward or slightly thrilling. This was much better, every piece of clothing he took off gave me more access to his tattoos. He looked very cool.

He pulls the sofa out into a bed, and i get on top and straddle him, we kiss for a bit more, and then he asks if I’m ready. I tell him yes, and he takes the scarf which is on the coffee table now, and he ties my hands back. “Tighter” i say softly under my breath. “Do you trust me?” He asks and i say yes. I wanna say “with all my life” but I promised my therapist I’d be less dramatic. So I say yes. See? I’m already learning about restraint.

He kisses me again, harder this time, with purpose. Ow. That hurts. But, I don’t want it to end. I taste my blood and strangely it turns me on even more. My heart is racing. I want him inside of me right now. And I tell him that. “I make the rules tonight remember?” He replies. I’m impatient, my clitoris is pulsing, and I can feel my wetness flowing down my thighs.

I moan as he starts sucking and kneading my nipples, its almost too much pleasure to take, almost. I feel. I close my eyes and feel his tongue, and his hot breath travel all over my body. I listen to his words, dirty, egregious even. I giggle. It turns me on even more. I blush.

He turns me over and raises my bum ever so slightly, “is this okay?” “Do you feel safe?” I nod my answers, and in response, he finds my vagina with his fingers, part my labia and nudges his penis in. I say nudge because it wasn’t a lot of effort. I was soaking wet and ready. I gasp because I am still not used to his size. I feel his body heat, he is about an inch from me but he is not putting his full weight on me. He pulls back just a bit and thrust again. This time, the pleasure hit so hard and I bit my lip even harder and drew more blood.

His hand reaches for my neck. This is my favourite part. He squeezes, and I get very lightheaded very quickly. He thrusts again. And again. My vagina has a mind of her own now, she’s contracting, gripping. My screams fill the air. He loves it when i scream. I can hear it driving him crazy. I love that I can tell how I make him feel and I don’t have to guess if he’s enjoying it like I do with other men.

I tell him I want to lie on my side and he knew what I meant, with one hand on my clit, he continues to thrust. He kisses my neck softly and that was the last straw. The scarf has come off. My hands are digging into the bed and I’m shaking vigorously. I push him away and get on top of him. I guided him in and sat all the way down. We both gasp. I giggle. I lean forward a bit to get the perfect angle and i ever so slightly start to rock but not back and forth. Up and down, and it’s not a rock exactly but more of a bounce. I was close, he was close. The feeling was…

The last thought i had before I collapsed on top of him was “this is a good way to go”

I like games. I like playing games, thinking of games, playing people. I used to hate pool, you know it? Some people call it snooker. Why is it called pool actually? It looks nothing like a pool. Or maybe it does. I digress. I’m very flustered. Can you tell? I don’t hate pool anymore. Not after today.

Pool can be sensual. Other games can be sensual as well. So picture this, you’re pretending to play badly (or actually playing badly) and he’s pretending to teach you, but actually feeling you up. You both pretend to not notice the slight brushes. However, his pants bulge out and your nipples harden. But it’s only the first date, so you play it cool. He comes up behind you to show you how to hold the stick. He’s using the corniest lines and double entendres. You actually find them amusing. Dobler-Dahmer effect i guess. You like him so everything he says is well received.

How did he smell so good? That is what is going through your head. You finally hit a ball. Perfect opportunity to hug him. It was just supposed to be a hug, (maybe) and now both of his hands are wrapped up against you, feeling and touching everywhere. Fuck. This was it. He has you and he knows it. Your mouths touch tentatively at first and then surely, and then faster.. Deep down, you’re thinking. This is wrong. This is so wrong. But, (permit the cliche sentence coming up) how can it be wrong when it feels so right? Roll your eyes, dear reader. But this does feel right.

The clothes are off, there’s no turning back now. It’s a big house, no one’s gonna hear you. And it turns you on that there are people next door who can come in at any time. That’s the voyeur in you desperate to come out. His fingers have found you and he groans when he sees you are just as wet as he imagined it. You thank whatever god there is that you wore a skirt for this party. He smells delicious, and tastes even better. There is one couch in the room. And its not a good one.

There was only one option, (side note, i find it funny when people say you only have one choice, i think there are not a lot of situations where you realistically have just one choice. Maybe one good choice but not one choice), but for the sake of this “imagination”, let’s say there was only one choice. You unbuckle his pants, never breaking the kiss. The boys of this generation, they don’t wear belts. So great. His dick pops out. Every bit as beautiful as you have imagined it. You turn over on the pool table and push your ass out. He’s smart, he doesn’t need to be told twice. He pushes your panty out of the way, and gently slides into you with his dick. There’s a gasp from the both of you. It feels way better than anything else. He whispers “You don’t know how long I have been waiting for that”.

You stop imagining.

This is a love story. Does love transcend time? Who knows? This is a story of a love that was. Not a love that is. Or maybe it is. But it is just one sided. She passed away on the 1st of May 2022. And ever since then, my life has been divided into before she passed and after. After is bleak, it is grey, dark and cloudy and not in a way where you know its gonna rain and afterwards, it will be sunny. No. This kind of dullness stays. It lingers. The sky doesn’t become clearer. You start to wonder if it ever will.

My grief comes like the rain, sometimes it is a heavy downpour accompanied by strong winds that knock me off my feet and leave me weak. Sometimes, it’s a light shower that is triggered by watching the people on the street for whom death had not paid a visit to. But always constant is the light drizzle. And even on days I’m semi okay, even on the days I see a glimmer of sunlight, it’s still always raining. I don’t think it’ll ever stop. Maybe I’ll learn to live with it. Maybe I’ll not even notice it anymore. Maybe my wishes would be granted.

I prayed to a god I did not believe in. For her. I would worship several gods if it meant I could have one more conversation with her. One more late night talk. Yet, I know I am a liar, I am a selfish human and one night could never be enough. I long for her smell. Her smells are fading slowly from my clothes. I don’t know how to preserve them. They say the sense of smell is the most powerful. I get it now.

Before was beautiful. Yes, it rained every now and then but most of the time, it was bright, colorful and radiant, the sun was up in the sky and also holding my hand. People turned to look at her in the streets and my heart swelled up with pride. I had fleeting thoughts of what I would do if I ever lost her, to another, to herself, to a job. I didn’t consider what I would do if I lost her to death.

Death is cruel. It doesn’t ask. It just takes. Whether you are ready or not. When I think about death coming for me, I see bliss, I feel calm. I wonder why I can not see you like that. I don’t want to. I want to believe you fought to stay. I want to believe you pushed death away and begged to stay. For me. For us.

“Aurora, this is real life” he said. “You can’t expect to have the love that you wish for, that is a love that belongs in movies”. I wanted to say but Todd did, no matter how much he hurt me, I still cannot forget how he did not take our love lightly, how he knew that I loved being a romantic and did not mock me of it or shame me. He kissed me in the rain, he wrote poems, he understood how I wanted, no, needed to be loved and he loved me. Do you remember what you said when I told you I loved poems? You said you weren’t an artist and that I expect too much from you. In your exact words, you said “ayo, I love music, would it be fair for me to force you to learn the guitar so you could serenade me?” And I said no, for of course, that was not fair. But..

But that wasn’t what I was asking for, it wasn’t the same. All I asked was for a little effort in our love, a little spontaneity. You told me if I keep asking for spontaneity, nothing would ever be spontaneous. That was true but I failed to yell what was truly on my mind. I didn’t tell you the reason I kept asking you to be spontaneous (all three times of it) was because you never were.

With you, I had to beg to be loved. Not even necessarily in the way I wanted to be loved, just in any way, any good ‘ol love would have sufficed..

These days, I barely remember the good part of him. Only the bad. One particular occurrence has been ringing in my head for days now, we had a fight and he said “well two wrongs don’t make a right, you should have counseled me when I did something bad rather than getting revenge”. Ah okunrin! I don’t even remember what we were fighting about but I still remember that statement. But why was he so incapable of being accountable for his actions? Why was his action not the problem, but my reaction was. Two wrongs don’t make a right? Honey, one wrong don’t make a right either.

I’ve been trying not to think of him, and failing. He disrupts my thoughts during the day and invades my dreams at night. He has acted so many roles in my dreams that he deserves a Grammy’s. Still, it’s surprising how he’s always good in my dreams. Could it be…that my subconscious is playing tricks, determined to see him as an angel, a saviour when he was in fact Lucifer reincarnated.

I do wonder how he is. If he’s happy. Cause I’m not. It comes like a thief in the night, the memories, the realization dawns slowly. Abuse is a funny thing. I was talking to a friend about some of the things he did to me, and my friend said “I’m so sorry you were abused” and I said to my friend “What do you mean ‘abused’?”. I laughed it off but when I got home, I thought about it deeply. Was I abused? Was the abuse covered by a blanket of faux protection? Was he aware of what he was doing?

That’s another question we must ask, dear reader, is an abusive person still abusive if they frankly have no idea what they are doing and it is all coming from a place of love? Can you fault them for it? Can you fault a child for doing a bad thing with no prior knowledge of good and evil? Can you blame a child who in his mind was doing something good but it got botched?

Manipulation was one of his many talents, he did it so brilliantly, he would have you thinking it was your idea. And oh the gaslighting, worthy of a mention..if I had a dollar for everytime I heard “your memory sucks, I never did that”..I’d have a lot of dollars basically. And the insecurity, not about our relationship, no. About himself. Although it did spill into our relationship.

It is amazing to see how he was so mature at other things, his business was going on amazingly, he was becoming the man of his dreams. Yet, he was a child, insecure, petty, immature. I remember one time he made a grammatical blunder and I laughed and corrected him, he broke up with me the next day. He maintained that he was right even after we googled it. He insulted me, told me I didn’t know everything and that no one likes a smarty pants. He insinuated that I insulted him, and I denied that, I told him I did laugh because it was funny and that if it was me, I would expect him to laugh to, cause that’s what I want in a relationship. Then he said, well maybe we shouldn’t be in a relationship, maybe you should be with someone who can speak good English for you. I said okay.

He came back two days later, on his knees. Begging. Figurative knees. Taking back all he had said. That always confounded me, cause why bother saying it if you’re still going to ask me to forget it? He did that a lot. Saying something and taking it back. Hurting me like no other has managed to, and no other would get to. You see dear reader, I have closed off my heart to humans, thrown away the key as they say.

Ah, I remember that night, there was a major fight on twitter between a feminist and a misogynist. I was in no way involved, yet, my man brought the matter to me. Telling me to talk to my gender, and that women can never be equal to men. That’s not how God meant it to be. He said men will always be superior and that the only thing we as women can do is to placate the men, and try to reason with them. I am literally quoting his exact words. I should have ran. Instead, I apologized for the actions of my fellow feminists. I said I would talk to them. The absolute ghetto.

I think I know why I didn’t run. And why a lot of women don’t run. How do you go about defining good and evil? They come together. He was good. Most of the time, he was great. He made me feel safe, protected me, took care of me..well of course, there was a time I suggested things we could do in our relationship and he said he believed I had time to think of inconsequential things like that because I was jobless..but I digress. He was kind, and generous, and he was so helpful. He put me in every one of his future plans, which was nice. He was a good person. I can’t deny that. He really was. Or is. But sometimes good people do bad things, frequently.

Don’t be fooled. I did bad things too. And I knew exactly what I was doing. But in my defence, it was fun.

I feel his eyes on me for the second time today and I turn around. Our eyes lock for a brief instant, it’s very obvious that he was looking at me because he is trying really hard not to right now. Or am I just delusional and trying to create scenarios that don’t exist? Is it truly, really just coincidences? What about the notes? Do I ignore that? Is it worse that I don’t mind? It’s the 2014 type of flirtation that amuses me. Stolen glances, love notes, awkward smiles in elevators. Or have I just completely made it all up?

Am I delusional? I am. But am I delusional? Or are you just one of those men that think they can sexualize a woman just because she sexualizes herself? Do you think it’s okay to undress me with your eyes? Do you think I don’t see it? I see the way you shift your weight to adjust your erection, the way your eyes cloud up with arousal as you fight to stay sane. I see the way you look at me. Eyes are the windows to the soul or something like that. And your eyes shout at me.

Your eyes tell me the stories of how unsatisfied you are right now and how much you would love to pin me down and show me exactly how you want me. I’m sorry. Now I’m the one sexualizing. I struggle with this part you know. Does everyone? I see a woman walking down the street and I think “fuck, I want her so bad”. I see myself wanting her. But also, I think, why the fuck am I such an horrible person and objectifying someone who is just doing human things. I saw a tweet recently that said that is the difference between men and women. A woman (most) would just think their obscene (not really obscene but normal actually) thoughts and keep it moving. You know? No weird comments. No glances. Just keep it fucking respectful. But men. Ew. They would men. You know?

I am psychoanalysing now and imagining things. Hey, I already said I was delusional. This is your fault. All it took was one glance and I spin out of control. I warned you.