So today is the last day of the month! Oh! damn it, of the year. So I feel like writing something free style, not a poem, not a prose, not something constricted or constructed within the canopies of writing. I just wanna write.
First, (oh my goodness, I’m soo thrilled I can feel the feels filling and drilling right through this steel seals of emotions) I met a boy. Well, I met whole lot male species in the entire year, but there’s something about this particular specimen of the male specie.
I call him a boy cause he makes me feel like a 20 year old toddler, chasing butterflies and plucking buttercups with flutter moods and limbs that dart up and down the stairs in pairs with a resounding musical number again and again. I can’t even remember a toddler me doing that.
I call him a boy be cause he makes me feel rainfall and rainbows and coloured bows and candies in places that were once filled with gloomier tales and tells, yells of happily ever never and mostly sprinkled with ash. This boy makes me feel colors from red to pink to yellow to sky blue, makes me see scents of chocolates and sweets.
This boy is strange, he is a stranger in a stranger world, in an entranged world sort of thing. He smiles with his heart, he laughs with his soul, he touches with his nerves, he talks with his spirit. There’s is something in the way he moves, proven in the way he touches and loves,so delicately like holy waters down river, the way words roll out of his cocaine coated tongue cause boy, I’m addicted.
This boy, this boy is a boy of science and I think Hades, why again. Me and boys of science! This boy has a thing for stars, call him astrophel, proly that’s why he’s still struck, but im stuck on this boy. This boy of science is different. Stars and machines.
He wakes me up from my slumber and reminds me that its the last Saturday, I gotta go to Goethe institute for a forum of women in literature, like how the fuck did he even remember that. He’s sad he can’t go with me, but promises to take me to fatumas voice. It has become one of our favourite end of week thing. But this means I have to stay late or with him in a pub watching Manchester united dry cook with him on some occasions, I dont mind. It gets me on the grove.
This boy, he massages my sour legs when I come back slightly injured from a taekwondo sparring and training. He doesn’t tell me to stop, he says “oh boy, who was your sparring partner? I pity…” I want to tell him that its no use, I couldn’t get that hook kick right, and every time I try I spin, I fall. I want to tell him, I’m scared I’m gonna let my team down this coming tournament. That I’m not even sure.
But he sees it all and says,”hey, if you want a black belt, its gonna be sweat, sometimes painful than this, but it’s worth it…”
This boy of science is a boy magic and awesomeness.
I’m seated here, in this room filled with shots and snaps of his memories, memoirs of his presence. Sometimes I get scared, sometimes I cry, just a little but deeply. I tear inside, and I crack a little bit. What if I’m not enough for this boy? What if this boy that gets drawn so much into things that don’t make him him and loses his spark. See, when this boy makes me feel like a toddler, I dont think, cause when I do, my mind will tell me to stop doing the flips, cause I’m safer on my feet. It will tell me to stop chasing butterflies and plucking buttercups, that cattterpillars are disgusting and I might a sting.
My mind will recognize risk more fluently, and I’d want to run away, sway from his lane, block all the rays. It’ll tell me there’s no use, they all run away eventually. It’ll tell me its a play, prank play, cards on the table and king of hearts will be showing spades.
I wipe away the tear, plug in the earphones and go for a run.
Its the 31st day of the month of December, the year is 2017. Tonight, I won’t be calling anyone, tonight I won’t be crying, tonight is the day I balance. 22nd day of the month of December, I wrote the most sincere words, tonight we fit the dress see how it looks, put the words into actions.
I shut the door, open the front.
Let’s turn this boy into a man…
Pictures courtesy of Hesbon and Abaas, thanks mates. Tkd family