Memories of laughter, memories of jokes. Memories of rainy days, memories of cold nights. Memories of candy; memories of sweets. Memories of films together, before the large telly, while legs rested on legs, she head on the he chest; romance, wiping of emotional tears, flesh in the tunnels of flesh, travelling across dangers and glee… together, always together. I do not blame the boy. Why should he not cry? Tell me, why should he not rant all day long when his heart is this broken? What can we do to help? Should we pack the pieces or mend the cracks? Or maybe we should oil the stiffening, so that hopefully, once again, the boy’d cross the road to our saloon with smile and life all over his face like he used to be- the sweet old him. Now he’s a mess! LOVE, what the hell have you done?
If he had listened when Wale Oyedeji said, “Funny though, when someone tells you they love you forever, please check your time, if it is 11:58pm, their ‘forever’ may expire at the strike of 12:00am.” He didn’t listen, now he’s in soup of love, and time is always hungry. God save us all; February is coming again!