Of Love, Death And Wild Fantasies

By Raphael Francis 5 months ago

Lately, there's a cradling inside of you, you can't explain, it makes you swoon, leaving you hallowed out, ailing and bristling with rage. Your eyes lost the glow they long ago possessed. You sighed a lot, hissed often, smiled bitterly too many times, all at no one in particular. It is an uncomfortable anger that cannot be expressed in the way anger is expressed. There is no one to shout at. No one to blame. you only sigh. Gnash your teeth. Cry.

"Do we strut this earth just to end in pains?"

You update your WhatsApp status, you do that often, churning out flowery sentences, in a bit to unburden your over ladened mind. But your viewers only loves the uncanny beauty of your phrases and sentences and the bizarreness of their semantics--- because to them, you're a poet.

"Wole Soyinka, you write well"

they would flatter.

And you would respond with thumbs up emojis just to end their trivial conversation. Again you sigh. Gnash your teeth. Cry.

"You and this girl, she's gradually turning you into a philosopher oo".

Your sister taunts in response.

You want to explain, but you feel a certain languor in your fingers to type, a certain slowness in your head. It is a sensation you have begun to feel too often, alongside a deep sadness, when a discussion, about her, about how Maria pops up the radar. This time, you sigh. Gnash your teeth. You don't cry.

Here's Maria  for the context:
Well defined features, abrasive demeanor, bright-eyed, caramel skin glowing effortlessly. Fleshy assets protruding in the right places like a model from a magazine. Hair hanging down rather than standing up, straight and sleek, parted at the side and curving to a slight bob at her chin.

You met her first in the club on one of those windswept Fridays, music blared, a cacophony mingling with the growing chatters of raving youths swaying their bodies. It's the way her nose ring, a tiny-glass like thing glittered under the florescent flickering lights in the club that made you noticed her. You stalked her, and soon found out her unending love for ripped jeans, for Tatiana's 'like you', which she posted on Facebook as her favorite song of the year.
Sometimes at night, when insomnia crawls out of its insidious cubicles to shroud you with a gnawing haze of nothingness, you visualize her, her glossy hair, her thick lips, and you marvel at all the things you would do to her body.

Then just last week, in school, you saw her pictures pasted around every auditorium, her usual smiles blurred by a splatter of inks from printing gone wrong, and beneath the pictures in red spidery penmanship is: With deep regrets we announce the passing away of a dear friend, daughter, sister and colleague Ms. Maria Peters who died after injuries sustained in a motor accident. May her soul rest in perfect peace.

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