Sweet Toxicity.

Photo by Jon Tyson on Unsplash.

Her eyes were soft, resting so well within her oval face, where her small lips settled, poised so lovingly like they dared to draw you into a kiss.

I did not know of the fire in her heart, but I found out her kissing lips became wider whenever she was yelling at me.

Her words would pierce through like arrows; she would scream with her eyes closed, shake her head furiously from left to right, braids taunting like Medusa’s snakes, and curse me, call me a bastard.

Even then, still, her eyes remained pure and in love.

I remember her slender face, black tanned skin glistening in the sun, eyebrows vanishing at the edge, and smooth cheeks that caressed my lips each time I bent to peck it.

The first time I approached her, I was aiming for the knacks. She was at the mall walking through an aisle of snacks, so absent-minded, so fragile, her fingers perusing rows of Sprite, till I - weeks later - found out she was a friend of a friend, and from there, rubbed shoulders with her.

The first time I approached her, I was aiming for the knacks, but when we finally f*cked I said under my breath, “This girl, na me go marry you.”

I will not call myself a good man.

I will say I try to be.

When you go through and face life, you end up who you become, not veering towards good or bad, but living for yourself, satisfying selfish desires.

Till when you find love, and learn how to share it, till when you figure out that love is sacrifice.

Maybe that’s the world’s problem. Real love is not publicized. So we know even better how to hate.

But she was something else, different, bursting with so much love, so much hate, that her emotions remained pure.

Think of when you take a baby’s toy. You see how they lash out in fury, tears bawling from their eyes, fingers scratching from here to there, even though you do it for their benefit.

That was how she was, reflexive to her emotions, highly explosive, from zero to hundred.

She would cry when her chest felt heavy, place her neck on the sofa looking up when my actions tormented her.

It was always my actions, always, but that wasn’t the case.

I never sought to do wrong. In fact, I gave her charge of everything. To me, she was mine alone, and nobody else’s.

But in those moments when she was punching me, slapping my face, cursing me, placing her open palm on my head and forcefully pushing it backwards.

I would see her in slow motion, watch the consternation of her face change, the frown lines come up, and her mouth stutter as she tore through me with generational insults.

I would watch her face, still stuck in slow motion, and although she would be burning with rage, I would see her eyes redden, her pupils throbbing, and a single tear rolling under the corner of her eyelid.

I would then say in my heart, “My princess, my light, I will protect you forever.”

And minutes later, we would be laughing pointlessly because while her face scrunched up in a frown, I had slipped in a joke which threw her off guard, and on God, what a powerful laugh she had.

At times, I think of grace, and then I become grateful for the love that was allowed me, especially when I tell myself I don’t deserve it.

Love is hard to explain, but I believe its most important principle is that each person shows it differently.

In the beginning of our talking stage, we noticed we could stand each other, so much that it was necessary for us to never walk alone.

We did not go out a lot, but we walked and talked, and through talking, saw each other for who we were.

On my end, a damaged man, coping with damage the wrong way, making up his mind about things that are not absolutes, “How can you say not all women cheat? You don't know anything! In fact, all women are demons.”

She, on the other hand, was equally damaged too but figured out the right way by not holding onto petty things like grudges.

She was expressive with her actions, easily excited. If she was telling you a story, all of her body moved.

Her hands would travel round her frame, her legs would strike peculiar poses, and her neck would extend to express every ounce of information.

She said she was doing it for me, even the things that annoyed me, like that Sunday when I needed her and she wasn’t there.

”The sun has a soft hue,” she would whisper, “feel it spread on your face. Do you feel the warmth?” She said holding my shoulders and shaking it wildly.

Our love went on to form something toxic.

If we were sane and not under the spell of butterflies, we may have considered the obvious red flags we were flying.

But people are not that simple.

Human beings are intricate and complex, strongly emotional.

You can never really understand a person until you climb into their skin and walk around in it.

So it is best to find truth in the consistency of action.

We decided to separate for good, one fateful Wednesday.

We sat down, palms together and eyes locked, and agreed we would destroy ourselves if we stayed a couple.

We smiled but were not happy. At the same time, it seemed the right decision, but till that point, we never understood how much we meant to each other.

My days became the darkest, and the noise that roamed the earth came to settle in my head.

I became a husk, floating from A to B. No purpose, no drive for anything.

Drinking, wasting late nights, all about, in one place or the other, with a torn soul, no grip to clench upon, falling deeper, slower, into condemnation.

And she woke me, my light, my Aduke. She came and freed me.

She was feeling the same as me; had fallen into depression, but unlike me, she took charge of it.

A pattern may have become obvious here. You may think, “This old man, what did you actually offer?” But if you saw the way her eyes lit up every time I came to her, you would understand why I mattered.

But today is not my day. Today is hers. And we must only talk about her.

And as I say this, I remember the day I proposed. Hanging there, on my knees, knowing what the answer would be, but still expectant, my whole body shaking, fearful, till she said yes, and my breath released from within my soul.

I did not realize I was holding my breath, but I knew, right from the day we met, she was the one for me. Only she could be.

And she brought me so much joy, made me know love, made me become a vessel of love, even though I was impure.

The fifty years we spent together are memories I won’t exchange for anything.

Although I must say, because I'm that type of man. I believe we married in that mall fifty-six years ago.

And I know we dreamt of dying together, holding hands side by side, sharing one oxygen mask, and looking into each other’s eyes, but now that you’ve gone ahead of me, I can only prepare for my time.

Rest on, Aduke.

I will see you soon.