The Hole Between Us…

It’s like falling into an abyss, a dark hole to which there is no bottom. All you do is fall and fall and keep on falling. After the first few seconds of screams are over, your mind begins to deceive you that you are not in any immediate danger. “Maybe this is how skydivers feel”, it coerces, wanting you to drop your guard. You take a moment and consider it, “He may be right” you say. You tell yourself that it’s not as bad as it looks.

Despite the fact that you are falling to your doom, you loosen your muscles, unclench your fist and open your eyes. You begin to look around and catch a glimpse of your surrounding: to that open window over there and the doctor having a smoke behind the service delivery entrance of the cancer rehabilitation center; away from the prying and judgmental eyes that may seek to crucify him for his supposed betrayal: his inability to quit smoking. You see the teenager about to take 20 sleeping pills and the one in the bath tub with a razor blade in his hand. You see the dance tutor who is desperate to catch the attention of one of his students, whom he loves beyond that which is humanly possible but who is under the curse of the friend-zone. You see his desire to save her from all the jerks and doodoo heads that she always seems to attract but has been denied the chance to.

Your heart begins to bleed as you see all of this pain and sorrow hidden in the cauldron of night; the many tear soaked pillows that tell many a heart wrenching tale. You momentarily forget yourself, saying a prayer for them to whomever will hear and hope that theirs will not be as yours. For the author of your story has all but sealed your fate.

You are still falling, falling through time and this time, you get to watch the greatest and worst horror flick of all; worse than The Exorcism of Emily Rose or The Conjuring; you are made to watch the highlight reel of your existence; of a life you had squandered. You get a chance to see who you would have turned out to be had you made better choices: had you partied less and loved more; had you saved more and spent less; had you given your life a value tag rather than allowing it to be dragged through the Mick and Cranny for worthless relationships and short lived thrills.

I look at the man I would have become and find myself at a loss; not for words but for sight, for a vision I should have had but didn’t. I am sad; sad for the many people that have, and continue to suffer because of my selfishness; for the many that will never experience freedom or lasting fulfillment due to my passivity; the tears and anguish of those who are forever resided to their gloom, all because I was not brave enough to chase after my hearts desire.

I would have gone back, back to repentance, to seek for mercy and hit the refresh button…but I can’t. For mine is a story in its final chapter; the curtain call is in, it is time to take a bow. The show has been a disaster but that ship has sailed. As I keep falling, my audience flashes through my mind and I begin to weep; not for having failed Him, but for having failed myself in front of Him. He gave me all I needed and made all possibility possible but then I blew it. I became a disappointment and in my shame, I ran and hid from Him. I caused a rift between us, a hole, a crevice too massive to be filled, and forever it is what shall be used to describe me: the gap that separates us, the hole that stands between us.

I close my eyes and wait for the inevitable; the fate that I have succumbed to. I dread what comes next…



That’s what is happening…

So many word combinations are running through my head right now, striving and fighting to be made a part of this writing. Adrenaline is pumping in my veins; I am trying to control my breathing lest my system breaks down and impairs me. “Be cool, chill out, just be you. I mean it’s just words…”  Truth is, I am very nervous, for I have never written about a ‘she’ before, or anyone for that matter. But I made a promise to try. Most of what I am about to say does not even make sense to me but I will try to express the picture as commensurate as it is in my mind right now…

I met ‘she’ some time back and there and then, I noticed something. Maybe it was the way she adjusted her glasses each time they slid down her nose, maybe it was that simple broad smile, maybe it was her brown eyes, maybe it was her laugh or even the lady like way that she handled her fork while eating, I am not sure. But the truth is that I noticed something…

So I made a point of asking about her from anyone and everyone who knew her. Truth, lies, rumors, judgments, assumptions, I took them all in just to have an idea of who this ‘she’ was and what it was about her that captivated me like this. I would see her everyday, at times from far others from close by while others close enough that she said hi. Each time I saw her, something about my day just brightened, down to the way I walked.

Several conversations later, by luck or by fate or a combination of both, I finally got a dinner sit down with her. Her dressing was simple but nice. She looked tired, like she had been overworking herself (again), but despite all that she still managed to laugh her all. We sat down and talked and talked on and on and on about cats and dogs and lies and truths and family and cartoon characters and this and that.

Many times I did not even hear what she was saying as I could not stop staring at her, (I know it’s creepy but don’t judge me), especially each time she was telling me a story and her eyes were dancing in rhythm to what she was saying. How she was waving her hands in the air when demonstrating something. How each time she adjusted her glasses jus to look at me, and each time she would smile, not too broad to look weird nor too narrow to look forced. How each time I told her something shocking, her eyes would widen in disbelief while balancing a laugh and a face in the most impossible form of facial multi-tasking I have ever encountered. Long story long, that was a night I did not want to end.

Maybe, I am over-analyzing, for I have a tendency to do so. Maybe I am in over my head, for I have a tendency to do that as well. Maybe I am crazy, for I am definitely known to be that.


All in all, peradventure I get the strength in my knees to stand in front of her long enough to bring this up, or gather the courage to tell her or decide to keep this as my little secret one thing is for sure, she is an experience that far supersedes any I have had in a while and which I hope to be around for longer. Beautiful, amazing, soul tendering moments that cause my stutter to be more pronounced, my palms more sweaty, my clumsiness more clumsy and my words to be disoriented or disappear altogether…

Such is ‘she’ to me…

May 17th (Part 2)

Sometimes, in utter dismay, I attempt to paint the picture of who you are to me. It’s an attempt to fully and in a commensurate manner, express the position that you hold in my heart and who exactly I see when I look at you.

Laying aside every form of nay sayings that may have been purported over time, I have come to embrace that you are the most phenomenal part of God’s creation that I have had the privilege of getting to encounter on a personal and intimate level.

Each moment that I have to stare into your brown soulful eyes; a moment to break down each and every barrier that I may have put up to protect my heart, is always an opportunity to catch a glimpse into your universe and experience your prized presence. These are those moments that the very concept of time ceases to exist. In that brief and intricate moment, I experience everything yet lose the same. My sanity is set aside, my manliness is undesired and the very fabric of nature that dictates who I am pauses and takes notice.

teenage_love_by_cookie_lovey-d5kd24fI get so engulfed and consumed in you that I stay rooted, unable to move. I can feel my feet but, for some reason, they choose such a moment to express their rebellion. My tongue gets heavy; my tongue and throat immediately get parched; my palms, surprisingly, decide that this is a perfect moment to demonstrate that they can get sweatier that Lebron James in the fourth quarter. My diction gets jumbled as I try to express myself in a cool and calm way so that you don’t see just how nervous I am. All I can ever afford to do is smile.

Every morsel of mine screams in unity for me to stop looking into your eyes. It’s funny because this is the one moment that they have all come together in unity over a matter. Sense tells me that I should look away, even for a brief moment, so that normalcy can resume. Normalcy though, in such a moment, looks like a disservice. For all at once; I am everywhere and nowhere. I am lost yet, I am found. I am collected but I find myself unsure.

Your eyes search the very essence of me, as though there is treasure to be found. Looking and prodding deep within, searching and enlightening my soul like a candle stick in the thick pitch of a deep, cloudy night. Your very gaze sends shivers down my spine, ripples through my very self.

I am usually stronger than this. I am a man; a strong one at that.  I have a strong resolve and when I decide something, nothing deters me from the same.

Then why is this happening?

It makes no sense. I fight within myself, trying to release the strength within to break free from this grasp you have on me. I have need to be free yet I feel so right.

I feel you embrace me, despite your being across the room from me; I feel the print of your lipstick on my cheek and your fragrance fills my nostrils, yet there are tens of people between us. They are several here with us, but it feels like it’s just us. The scene may be full but I only see you. The tarmac beneath us vanishes and it’s just you and I; caught in the current, gliding free with the air between us feeling like miles.

I long to touch you, place my head on your heart and bare myself to you. Break down every wall and let you into my fortress just so I can get the opportunity to tell you that I have been searching for you my whole life. To tell you that you have been all that has occupied my mind the last 12 days. Thinking about you and searching for you. Picturing how my life would be with you in it. At some point I quarreled myself, chastising myself for thinking so inappropriately about you.

Yet as you stand across the road from me right now, it all comes back; the thoughts, dreams and desires. I know I should not cross. I should walk away and leave you be. But I cannot. My sanity depends on this; I cannot let myself down this time. So I do what I know how to do best: resolve. I resolve to cross the road. I resolve to meet you again. I resolve to do what I did not have the courage to do so before. I resolve to be me.

I feel woozy. I feel the rhythm of my steps begin to disappear. I keep going; closer, closer and closer still, until I find myself before you.

What do I say?

Shit! I clearly did not think this through. “She is looking at me in anticipation; what do I do? I cannot turn back now (clearly). I can do this. Let’s just keep it simple.”

I stretch out my hand, open my mouth and say the only word that I can say.


May 5th (Part 1)

In all fairness, you have to agree that when one falls in love he falls out of his mind. No one is a greater evidence of this than yours truly. I mean, I am fallen out of my friggin’ mind. Indeed they say when you find the one; your heart will give you that nod of recognition.

Like it was yesterday, I remember the day I laid my eyes on her. A day like any other is what I thought it would be. After much pestering and coercion I was finally convinced to leave the comfort of my bed, skip breakfast and hurry off to town to meet my cousin. As I headed to town, all I was thinking about was how I was going to kill her on sight. I would then tell her that it was over for us as family; it was not her it was me; she should move on and forget about me; maybe even find another family member to make their life hell. It was a decision I had thoroughly considered and it was best for us to go our separate ways. I was then going to buy her lunch and probably go shoe shopping with her (*sigh*).

However, as I was about to discover, today was not that day. I saw my cousin as she approached but today she was not the lone ranger I had grown accustomed to. She was with someone. A friend as she would later introduce and boy was she a sight!

She had these amazing braids on which she fell mostly on one side of her face, giving her that seductive yet mysterious look (if you were to tell her this right now she would probably deny it on her life), she wore this blue jeans that hugged her just right; not too tight to expose too much nor too baggy to hide her curvaceous figure, she had on a white top with these bright blue flowers, a simple wristwatch which did much to express her modesty and slipper sandals.

She walked up to me, held out her hand and with the most beautiful smile said hi. The grip was oh so wow; her palm was soft and perfect. In my mind I was wondering which moisturizer she used because I would have loved to have a swing at it. She smelled great; her fragrance giving that serene and peaceful ambiance like only a field of blooming flowers could give. One whiff of that could send one into a blissful trance which they would not desire to come out of.

I looked up and was met by brown searching eyes which danced at contact with mine. The contact was short lived but felt like an eternity. At that particular moment, I felt my guts churn, something in my tummy leaped, I broke a slight sweat and my confidence instantly vanished. I looked away quickly so that this weird sensation would end and, to mask my nervousness,  broke out into laugh while looking at my cousin. All the while all I could do was ask myself, “What in the blinkety blank just happened?”

I could feel her eyes on the side of my face and I found myself longing and tempted to take another peek into her eyes for statistical purposes, you know, to gather sufficient information for the formulation of a workable hypothesis in regard to what had just happened.  At this moment I was a nervous wreck; I could not open my mouth to speak for I was sure my words would fail me. That and she looked so learned and sophisticated that anything I said would only confirm how uptown I wasn’t.

*To Be Continued*


I think I have been unfaithful to my gift. It’s really been a long time since I sat down and actually took time to cultivate and nurture it. I have spent too much time indulging and concentrating on other things and I have abandoned her.

She is not happy: I know this because when I was still a good partner, she was uncontrollably jovial and would, without hesitation, jump at me without occasion; almost tackling me to the ground, like a hungry lion on the tail of a wildebeest in the Serengeti. She had this glow about her and when she opened her mouth to speak, milk and honey flowed out.

It was captivating: she had this charismatic vibe to her; at any one point when she was ready to bare her soul, you couldn’t help but drop everything and give her your attention. Talk about having a hold on you.

She was always, and I guess she still is, very open with me. I always got the juiciest of stuff from her; the kind of scoops that Perry White would kill for [If you don’t know who this is, then what are you watching?] It is the kind of stuff that reporters and writers compromise their integrity for; the kind that in no way could be obtained legally; like the original painting of the Mona Lisa or shots of Barbra Gordon in the bat girl suit at comic con. She only gave me the best; beautiful masterpieces that by far surpassed even my greatest expectations. The kind of creations that every author dreams of, that Shakespeare, upon hearing, would cuss while turning in his grave for not having thought of such in the first place.

I have had with me the very best that any person in the literary arts could have searched or hoped for, but I have taken her for granted. I have denied her quality time and no longer get intimate with her; I no longer tell her how amazing she is, despite my seeing it every day; I don’t even listen to her anymore.

Damn it!! I have hurt her

7a9b73e56b43b3fdee13166a1d0a2a6aI feel the pain she goes through and see how bad a toll it has taken on her. She stopped singing and no longer wants to listen to music. Even her dressing has changed; I am told that she has burned all her summer dresses and given away all her party shoes. Right now, all she does is walk around the house in an oversized construction T-shirt. She sits around all day, eating ice cream, and perfecting her aim by throwing knives at the portrait of Stewie Griffin that hangs in our living room.

But you know what?

I have come to my senses. I’m going back to her, to apologize to her in the hope that she will take me back and give me another chance; a chance to make it right with her; to prove to her that I do value and care for her more than anything in this world.

I am no longer just going to say how I feel but show it too. I will make her a nice diner, buy a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc (it’s her favorite), some Swiss chocolate, 200 long stem roses (the sight of roses causes her eyes to light up) and call in that favor that Anthony Hamilton owes me. I plan to lay my heart bare and vulnerable before her and hope that she will take it back.

I did her wrong; I just hope my transgression is not beyond penance

The Broken Plate

I open my eyes to the blinding lights that stream in through my bedroom window. My head is heavy, my mouth has the distinct aftertaste of cigarettes and my throat is dry. My eyes are sore and itchy. My face feels sticky and dirty. I lift my head and see the dirty outline of my face on my pillow. Sitting up is a great battle but I finally manage to sit up and open my eyes to the sight that is my matrimonial bedroom. I lazily lift my feet off the bed and place them on the floor. Looking up, I look into my wardrobe mirror and I catch a glimpse of the horror that is my face; my hair is in a mess with ties and knots, most of the make up from one half of my face remained on the pillow, my eye pencil had traced a path down my face to signify the path my flowing tears had carved out. Most of last night is a blur, with bits and pieces coming in flashes.

I immediately notice a funny smell and I run my eyes around, following the trail of the smell so as to discover where it is coming from. I bend down and catch a glimpse of my dress from last night, well, the remainder of it. I lift it to my nose and immediately discover my mistake for the pungent stench from the cloth is horrendous. One of my heels is right next to where the dress was and I notice the heel is broken while the other is nowhere in sight.

And then reality strikes…

Did Jim really just up and leave?

Seven years of marriage and all of a sudden I am cold product. Seven grueling years of pulling him out of all the gutters and pits he had gotten himself into. Seven years of paying his debts, and need I say of how many times I have had to personally call his boss to apologize for his complacency. All the sacrifices I have made not only as a woman but as a person. Having put my career on hold to help him pursue his. How I had given up my smashing body just to have his children. 4 children in seven years is not the easiest thing to do. To be a wife, to be a friend to such a man had drawn the very last of my strength. But I held on, I mean, that is what you do for those you love. You give your all at the expense of yourself. My family disowned me, my friends abandoned me and I lost all traces of a social life just for him. “Me and you against the world baby”, that’s what he told me everyday, and I believed him. And all this while I thought we were a team

Then he comes back home last night, packs his bags and tells me he has had enough. Puts his key on the table and walks out the door. I follow him out into the rain, trying to talk to him but he does not even look at me. He gets into his car and drives off, leaving me kneeling on the ground. I stand up and run after his car, shouting his name, while tears and rain partially blind me. I run till my lungs give in. Most of what happened after that made no entry into my head. Maybe this strange but strong smell on my now soiled dress had something to do with it.

What? How? Why?

These are the thoughts that run through my mind as I feel the tears well up in my eyes again. I let them flow. I begin to feel numb and heavy as all I can think of is the emptiness inside. As the tears trickle down my face, they tell the story of the broken plate that is my heart.


I am not okay.

I feel as though control is slowly falling from the grip of my reigns. It is slipping through my fingers as though desert sand.

My resolve is undergoing an insurgency; it is under attack from all fronts; an all out rebellion; a declaration of war.

My barriers have been breached and my walls have been compromised.

What I have strived and struggled for so long to keep beyond my gates have laid a siege upon my conscience.


I am not at peace.

I am bombarded from the left and from the right. Attacks emanate from the expected and the unexpected.

No angle of my body is shielded: no matter how much I try to cover and guard myself, there is an opening that can be exploited.

When I think I have survived; another wave, greater than the one before, hits me in all my vulnerable.


Discouragement and uncertainty are my new bed mates.

They whisper in my ear all day and night; beckoning, calling, seducing, coercing and convincing.

They are slowly pulling me to them; to their darkness and their disparity.

They seek to hypnotize me and then corrupt me. They want me to be like them.

I keep fighting; I keep resisting; everyday putting in the fight of my life.

I, though, don’t feel as though I am winning. With each passing day, I feel as if giving in is the proper thing, the logical thing and the only thing to do.


This shit is nasty! It ain’t great.

I cannot sit; neither can I stand.

Fear and anxiety keep my stomach from food while my lisps have lost the taste for wine. My desire for the breast of a woman is long gone and their sight does not so easily beset me as it did before.


the-best-songs-about-isolation-u1I am slowly beginning to prefer isolation for it is all I have come to know.

I have locked myself away in the chambers of my mind, away from the icy cold grasp of reality.

Matter is slowly losing its essence; the shadows are slowly creeping in and maybe it’s my claustrophobia speaking but the walls seem to get closer everyday. It is as though they want to suffocate me within them.


I have lost track of time; days feel like weeks and weeks like eternity and beyond.

I am stuck.

I feel paralyzed and I am afraid that one of these days I will succumb to the oh-so-great temptation to doubt my faith.

In spite of all this, the siege continues and the greatest casualty thus far has been my conscience.

Life is almost drained from it and I don’t see him lasting through the night. I heard him whimper all through yesterday but by now has lost even the strength to open his eyes.


All I can do now is cry for help, hoping and praying that someone will hear

I hold on to the hope that someone out there thinks of and prays for me.

I pray that my father has not forgotten me and as we speak is presently sending his strongest and bravest knights to my rescue.

I pray that the thought of me even crosses his mind, even if it is just for a split second as he sits down to eat or as he walks through the royal courts; that he prays for me to the gods every night before satin sheets and the warm skin of a damsel comforts him from the perilous night.


All I can do now is wait.

Wait for my rescue and eventual deliverance from this prison of torment; an imprisonment that was self inflicted all in a bid to emancipate myself from my father.

My father whom, when I shall stand before, I hope shall look beyond my dirty, depraved and tattered look and that he will see his son; to the little man on the inside who cries and craves for his approval; whose only sin was desiring his father’s affection.

I hope he shall hear what my heart has been saying all this while;

“Father, please love me…”


My Desire…

We need to go back to the beginning when everything was still black and white. Back before we allowed circumstances and opinions to blur our clear cut sides. Let’s go back to the joy of simply being around one another; no expectations, no predetermined or ulterior motives; just me, you and the world at our disposal.

Let’s go back to when the phrase ‘I love you’ came from a sincere place. When it was not a means to an end or a door to getting what we want. To the days when we valued outdoors more than indoors; the fresh air, the scent of flowers, the orange sun and the wind blowing in our hair.

c919ef111dfb5999ef429af3bbe44788Let’s go back to the days of that naïve 18-year old teenage kind of love; to the days when sitting up the whole night talking to you was the highlight of my day, not how many orgasms I gave you. To when going for simple picnics, sharing a plate of fries, going sight seeing or window shopping at the mall was what we called an ideal Saturday plot; simple, romantic, meaningful and from the heart.

Let’s go back to when ingenuity was not only expressed in the bedroom but also in the little things that I did to sweep you off your feet: like saving up the whole week to buy that cheap necklace as a sign of my love or, cleaning the compound for the whole week so as to get money for you to go see that movie you were so crazy about. Simple things just to show you how special and amazing you are; things to make you feel loved and appreciated. To show you that it is not just your body that I crave, but the entire of your mind, body and soul.

I desire for us to get back to when communication was as simple as a toddler writing with crayons; what you see is what you get. No reading between the lines, no searching for a deeper or hidden meaning; when what I said is what I meant. Before linguistics, a degree in literature, Justin Bieber (What do you mean?) and Cosmopolitan magazine altered our perception of words.

Let’s go back to when I wasn’t so analytical of you; to when I saw the best in you; to when I believed that only the best could come out of you because you are the very best; to when I only anticipated good from you. For I have allowed my skepticism and my lack of faith in the world to shift to you, my love. All I do now is look out for what you do wrong so that I can jump in and put you down; feeding my ego by seeming wiser than you in that respect when truth is, it is just a ruse I purport to not face my own imperfections and defects.

I want us to go back to when I was brave enough to face my own fears; and brave enough to entrust you with them. When I could open up to you about anything and was not afraid of you judging me, or your perception of me changing when I told you that I struggle with things too. I struggle with depression and feelings of low self worth; I struggle with my flesh and I am greatly battling lust. I struggle with the voices in my head who strive to make me believe that nothing will ever change and this rut is ours in all permanence. I want this mask that I have erected to fall off, so that you see me for who I really am…a wounded man.

Above all, I want us to go back to when it was just me and you; when no one else was a factor. When the most important aspect of my day was when I got to see and talk to you. When many of the variables that are now present did not affect us like they do and when all the things that that bug me right now did not as much. Just us on the inside and everyone else on the outside.

Let’s go back to when it was simple.

This, is my desire…


Love is a funny thing. It is like a pirate, or better, a robber. It comes in unannounced and forcefully takes captive of your emotions and senses without as much a s a howdy ho. It welcomes and implants itself into your perfect and meticulous life and disturbs the peace of your core. Your life gets turned upside down, disorder becomes the order; your routine gets mis-arranged and the worst part of it is, you don’t know how or why or when it happened.

But somehow you embrace it. You confess to yourself that indeed you like it. It is somewhat of a necessary evil; you don’t want it most times but sundry times cannot do without it. It is a seesaw and roller-coaster of emotions and thoughts. It takes you all the way high and then drops you to your greatest depth.

You are like a heroin addict: in desperate need of a fix yet still desiring to get your act together.

You want it!

You need it!

It is the precious to your Sméagol and without it you are utter nothingness. You wake up one morning, and want it more than life itself; by the end of the day, you curse its very existence.


Why is it so complex? Why does it promise you sunshine and rainbows yet births darkness and gloom? And somehow, in the belly of the deep, you still long for it.

tumblr_inline_mfjcgybdd81rbr1nxThe rush of the feeling; the celebration; the candle lights and the sound of the crashing waves. Though it may kill you, you still want it…more and more everyday. So you pursue it; you buy the flowers and make the reservations. You shower and shave; roll, press and buff all to your best. It has to be perfect; everything has to be just right. You drive; you honk and open the door. You can’t wait for it to unravel; the anticipation is too much to contain. When it will finally happen; when you will finally attain your greatest desire…

Her love.