Dear Future Ex III

You see, my dear. Unlike the other letters, this one is full of sweet nothings and ridiculous pet names. This is proof of the kind of progress through which I have gone ever since that day. I found my lover. My soul mate and friend. I saw you in a different light my dear. You became the most beautiful creature I know. My lucky charm. Guardian angel. My muse! Whenever I heard your voice, the higihaga feeling in my heart equaled none under the sun.

Dear Future Ex III

Dear Future Ex III

Hi my love.

A timorous landlubber I have become because it seems my incessant writing to you will never cease. Babe, as you are aware, it has been a while since I haven’t written to you in a long time. I almost forgot how to do it. Because we have been talking directly and sharing our smiles and cries. Ever since that day, is it three or four years ago? Yeah we are heading to the fourth year, my lovely one. In fact swrthrt, I am at one corner of a mall right now. I am trying to do what I think is romantic. What I think will salvage a most unwanted eventuality of you becoming my Ex. I look around at the lingerie shop and I see pairs of people, mostly male and female, using their eyes to see if pieces fit. I have ducked into this corner because I saw someone who looked like you, honey. I wouldn’t want you to spot me here, darling. I want this to be a surprise. A surprise that will reduce the angle of your mouth as you sneer at my whole presence. At least make it a grimace. A smile will be too much. Don’t you think my dear darling? Of late I have seen that you love these intriguing inner clothing. The ones that rig their way between the bottoms. Thongs, they call them. I want to get you three pairs but I don’t know the color that will rekindle our passion. I want to ask around. Which is the best color for pleasing a special lady? I think am messing up. Maybe these are things I should have known before.

I took this phone out to text you and ask you your favorite color. But I ended up writing a letter, my future ex. The titling of this letter wasn’t supposed to be dear future ex. Not at all. For a couple of reasons baby. The ideal one would have been the color of inner wears.  Or better still, let’s make up, bae. But each title gives me a little piece of heartbreak, my dear. Every time I think about it, I look up not in wonder of the marvelous enormity of the roof and the malevolence of the evil mall spider, but to withhold the miry and salty tears welling my eyes. So, dear, my choice as title of this letter is the Sisyphic curse of love. Do you know Sisyphus, sweety? No. let me tell you a bit about him. So, future Ex, Sisyphus was a King in the ancient Greece and was well known for his elevated sense of self-importance and his steadfast callousness. So, as the story goes my dear, this king was one day tempted to play his tricks on one of the gods. And he succeeded. However, when judgment time came, he was sentenced to what is known today as the Sisyphean curse, which involved rolling a very heavy rock up a very steep hill. Upon reaching the top, he watches the stone mischievously roll back down. Then he rolls it up again. It plummets back down. Roll it up. Again. And again. Some people say he was not too clever after all. Why not just leave that rock there and run to a faraway country? But

The cycle continues, my dear future ex! The sisyphic curse, I call it.

Sweety, our love was enkindled on that day you accepted me the way I am.  That day when you turned my mind right around, my reservations dissolving into the sweat-moistened air that was around us then. That is when all ideas of love whirred over my head like a bunch of rattled doves. “Lover boy” became my constant sobriquet, my dear. Ordinarily, I would have objected, or rather hurled painful blows, to anyone calling me such a disgraceful name.

Acha mchezo, bana! I would respond underneath a shy smile.

You see, my dear. Unlike the other letters, this one is full of sweet nothings and ridiculous pet names. This is proof of the kind of progress through which I have gone ever since that day. I found my lover. My soul mate and friend. I saw you in a different light my dear. You became the most beautiful creature I know. My lucky charm. Guardian angel. My muse! Whenever I heard your voice, the higihaga feeling in my heart equaled none under the sun. It was something between the sophistication of a violin sound and the simple smoothness of the wandindi. Your voice was a fountain of ever-erupting inspiration and it kept gurgling spasms of wisdom. I cannot forget your smile, my future ex. It was something else. Combined with the elegance of a diamond shape, your lips had just the perfect thickness and a ravishing succulence. You were a sight to behold, my dear. At least in my eyes. There was this time I got intoxicated by the mere appearance of your face my dear. Every moment I glanced in your direction I saw something new. Something more fascinating. Something refreshing. There are no whiter teeth than your own, my future ex. Milk white and in perfect arrangement. They are just the right sizes and heights. They fill your mouth under the dark gums to form a semblance of the contiguous arrangements of the keys of a modern keyboard. Whenever you turn your neck, it looks like the most powerful and neat crane at the port of Mombasa. And your gaze. It is a gaze of value. That which triggers and elevates ecstatic emotions. Swirrat, I wouldn’t want to get started on the hyacinth patch between your long legs. What it does to me!

You see, future ex, we were good together. If I didn’t know better, I would say something in the environs of we were the envy of the neighborhood. You were my guardian angel. We knew each other like we knew our palms. There was not a need for foreplay my dear. We knew the spot to hit and Bum! Do you still remember our safe yet magical phrases? The ones we would use even amidst crowds and only the two of us could understand:

You: Jack, Kawono anegi tikli!

Me: An ayie thoo tikli!

Us: Rush to the bedroom as fast as our shaky legs can carry us! Or anywhere

And there are those who say that Luo language isn’t romantic. Wakwende uko.

[sigh] Sweety, we were good together. But love is strange a thing. Do not get me wrong, my dear future ex. I have seen strange things. I have seen an employee with the noble job description of talking care of babies being baptized “nanny.” Same name as a female goat! Talking about goats, I have seen a five legged one. I have even come across a village donkey carrying a huge black log below its belly. In the name of a private part! I have seen mustachioed women. I know you will say that is not strange, but wait. When it looks like a grey caterpillar waving its way below a feminine nose it is strange. My dear, I know you will say that I am yet to see the worst but none of these is stranger than love. Not even the Kenyan politicians could compete with the extent of love’s strangeness. Our love was strong! But love is strange. I felt like we were two pillars of our own strong earth. I had visions of us buying a small piece of land at the foot of Wire Hill, build a grass thatched, two-roomed cottage and give life to our ten children. 10. You know, my dear, I thought our love was so strong. Hefty enough to move two mountains with only its left hand!

But it is a curse my dear future ex! Yesterday, I realized how much of a curse it is. Wait, it is not that I did not listen to you when you said I should have bigger dreams. When in your wisdom asked where my writing will take us. And I responded that a big break will soon stop playing hide-and-seek with us. But you shrugged, you frowned, and went back to your make-up. You know baby, it hit me yesterday. When I was laying my head on your soft bosom trying to find the peace I have always found there. It has always performed the magic of quelling my mind troubles. But yesterday was not the same my dear. Our thoughts were not in harmonious synchrony. While I was engrossed thinking about how we would celebrate our third year of a seamless relationship, you were thinking about and texting him. Yes him. You might think me an imbecile not to have known by now. But, pumpkin, you like him because he is an aspiring M.P, right? Ambition. Wasn’t he still aspiring when we were in seventh grade? Wasn’t he? When he still had a definable hairline. Now he is bald, my dear future ex

Bald as an egg.

They are almost closing the shop now. No, I will not buy lingerie. There is nothing to celebrate anymore. I now know love for what it is, future ex. A Sisyphean curse. And it is time for my stone to roll downhill. I will take a few long breaths. Eat a lot of proteins. Visit the gym perhaps before I even think of rolling it uphill again.

Yours Me

Your Ex!

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