The number one thing I dreaded as a boy while growing up was being in love. For me love was a kind of movie thing: it was a childish fantasy; a make-believe kind of emotional display; a staged affinity and feeling meant to be looked at from the other side of the fence.
It was like a complimentary dessert of brownie one gets as a regular in a restaurant.
I had no plans for love… but hell, that spider sneaked up on me.
So, most times when you beg me to forget about you, I get confused and ask myself: how does one stop loving something that’s already a part of oneself?
You came into my life when I was in love with something else, took away the worries and presented yourself as a better option—a near-solution to late stage hypertension, and now you want to abandon me?
Is this really how this love works?
Ibironke, tell me… is this really how this love works because I am losing my head?
I’m losing my mind.