Falling.

It is a long- awaited holiday. Good Friday. You are lying in bed, far withdrawn from life and its misgivings, or cruising vehicles and noisy powerbikes, or chirping birds and anything that reminds you of a busy street or the imperfection of humans or nature’s heart-melting grace. Your headphones are well into place, your eyes pressed together with profound ease, as you drown into Simi’s Love don’t care. You don’t care too, at least not now, or not today.

You adjust into the caress of your pillow. Thoughts skit through your mind, of people, and faces, and things- of what worked out and what didn’t; those who left, and those you ditched… you acknowledge each one un-feeling-ly. No more emotions to spare. Then, you remember a joke. That joke. You muffle a laughter into the quiet of your pillow. It isn’t much as the mirth in the joke, as the voice of the teller. His voice. His face. You shudder when you realise what has happened. Your heart has done it again, and this time you damn right care…

this thing about you

© The Short Black Girl, 2016.

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6 thoughts on “Falling.

  1. The second person singular has a beautiful effect on your posts.

    The handwritten quotes are always so profound and beautiful.

    The sentence-to-sentence, line-to-line synchronizations get me all excited.

    You, milady possess a truly beautiful mind. 🙂

    Your mind is beautiful. ❤

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Oreoluwa, the wonderful poet comments on my page… oh my!

      Thank you very much for your encouraging comment. I am glad my writing experiments are soothing to your mind.

      I thoroughly appreciate you. :D. <3.

      Like

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