Dear Former Lover
So the other day a colleague of mine had the bright idea of writing about her ex. The Big Ex, not the one you are with for a week. But hey, who am I to say a week is not enough to fall in love, plan a future and invest? Anyway, I am talking about the big ex. The one who taught you how to love. Never mind how sappy that sounds. In my opinion, love should be a personal endeavour, then the rest fall in place. So this ex is the one that gave you the stars and just as quickly as a bratty child at the playground, yanked it from you.
I could tell it was the big one because of the words she used, words like forever and love. Plus she’s a pretty good writer too, so that helped.
So anyway, in her writing, she reopened a lot of old wounds and we all know what follows wounds; no not houseflies and pus but anger, plain old anger. Just so we are clear, it’s anger towards my ex, the Big One not the beautiful writer colleague. (Yes, men have the capacity for emotion thank you very much.)
So anyway, in her writing, she reopened a lot of old wounds and we all know what follows wounds; no not houseflies and pus but anger, plain old anger. Just so we are clear, it’s anger towards my ex, the Big One not the beautiful writer colleague. (Yes, men have the capacity for emotion thank you very much.)
You know how we are taught not to hate or wish ill upon those who do us bad, well today is not that day. We all really just want to lash back but because we are “mature “and long “over them” we bite our tongues and say or do nothing.
Today I do just that. Today I rage.
Dear former lover, (yes you were my lover, I refuse to refer to you as an ex because that is just white people fancy talk). First of all, how are you? Have you been well? I’d hoped that by now you’d have flown out to some foreign exotic country or even to another planet but since I’ve seen you a few times along Moi Avenue and once at Koja, I guess my wishes have not manifested, yet. There was always something about your presence that just seemed outer-worldly.
Second question, how can a human still look so fine even after wrecking so much havoc? How can you sit there with your perfectly sculptured face and smile when you left nothing but pain and destruction in your wake? How? Okay so maybe am exaggerating, maybe you’re not that bad. You did after all buy me this really cool watch for my birthday, which if I may add I only keep for the purposes of telling time and getting compliments from lasses. So really, the joke’s on you. So maybe, just maybe you’re a little less evil, but then again this is not the day for you to shine, it’s mine.
I saw you at B.S. too the other day, with your long flowing hair, beautiful skin, toxically red lips and those dazzling poisonous hands. Yes, I said hands because you had a nice pair and we made some pretty bad and/or good memories, whichever way you choose to look at it. And when I saw you, you were in the company of some guy. He was in a bespoke suit and monk-straps which only made it harder to hate him. How can you throw shade at an Armani suit? You can’t, that’s how. That’s why no one trash talks James Bond. So you were smiling as he told some made-up story about how his house in Ngara is fully furnished with leather couches and all. We all know that story, we’ve told it to ‘potential mates’. (Please don’t fall for it) I watched you for a minute or five then walked away.
Then it occurred to me, that I didn’t even know why you’d left. Strange right? That you can purportedly love someone so much and still leave them with no explanation. Women, they are a strange breed. I loved you wholly and truly like I’ve never any woman before or after you, but see my life; misery and random lovers. Well, at least I got something out of it, material for this piece. Thank you oh dear former lover.
Maybe one day we will have that conversation about why you left. Maybe I will have forgiven you for leaving and breaking my heart. Maybe!
Yours with no good wishes whatsoever,
The Boy You Left Behind.
