I remember.

About two years four-or-so years ago, I did a collaboration with one of my neverland soulmates. I had almost forgotten about it, because it’s been so long; and then I stumbled upon it in my folder and it all came pouring back. That year. The collaborations. And every other thing in between.

It’s never really been the same since after that year. But this is just me paying ode to something beautiful that once was, and saying I miss you Charlie. And I miss this. I honestly do.

The Collaboration

I remember a time I used to care,
A time,
When love was all I had to share,
I remember I once used to be fine,
Because everything and all I had was you being there..

I remember my very big smile,
The redness of my blushing cheeks,
And I remember the very girly sound of my laughter,
And everything your presence brought with it,

I remember your love,
Sweet poison that one was,
I remember your touch, and warmth,
And the nights I thought I was the only one,

I remember being wrong,
I remember finding out there was Amaka, and Isong,
I remember being hurt,
And I remember forgiving you cos I loved you too much,

I remember being patient,
Loving you and waiting for you to really love me in return,
I remember listening to your friends each time they said,
It was just me you truly cared for and loved,

I remember I believed,
Each time you made me think,
That you cared enough to never again hurt me,

I remember I was deceived,
Into thinking,
You were different from Emeka and Ifeanyi,

I remember you,
I remember the girl I used to be,
I remember hate,
Which is all your memory now brings,

I remember I was naïve,
I remember I was stupid,
To have sometime believed that love truly exists,
I remember now,
I remember how you changed me,

I remember how because of you,
The sweetness of love seized to remain,
I remember how because of you,
I promised to never love again..


And here I was,
thinking love was forgiving,
I guess I was wrong,
To think we could always be..

I remember a time you used to care,
A time, when love was all we had,
I remember you once used to be fine,
Because everything that mattered was me being there.

I remember your very big smile,
The colour of your blushing cheeks,
I remember how the sound of your laughter,
Tickled away most of my worries.

You said you cared,
And I thought you meant it,
Now I know I thought wrong,
Cos you didn’t hold on enough to make us work,

I glory in the memories,
Of our love, once so strong,
I remember the late night kisses
And how I made you the only one…

I remember your bout of hisses
And the sudden naggy tales by midnight,
I remember how your kiss lost its feel,
And how your smile lost its shine.

I don’t know what went wrong,
But you blamed Amaka
And Cursed Isong!
You missed it all honey,
I was just a lost artist.
I loved you,
That you knew.
I never did try to flirt,
Was just being nice to the girls.. 😉

Maybe you were a little naïve,
A little underage,
Maybe the magical wonders of a first love,
Made you forget to give all it takes.

I remember the promises
You seem to have forgotten,
I remember how much I hurt,
When you turned your back on me,
I remember we were wrong,
About too many things..

No matter what you think of me
No matter what you think of love
I will always think of you,
I will always remember the girl you used to be,
The girl who kissed me with her soul,
The girl… whose love will forever awaken my soul…

I’ll always love you sweetie,


© The Short Black Girl, 2016.


Old Ties.

It is only 2:00 in the morning. You wake up restless after failed attempts to fall back asleep since Mama’s call woke you up from that fascinating dream where you had been having a sun tan on the beach in Miami (PS: she had called to ask you if you still remember to say your prayers and read the Holy Book!). You decide to put a sound track to your life and indulge in some cleaning. You vacuum clean the room carpet, and dust the tables, change the bed sheet and oust the dishes into the dishwasher; you wash the toilet, and scrub the tiles, and once you’re done, you smile, feeling a tad more relieved and humane than when you woke up.

You re-arrange your book shelf as you intend to storm the bookstore later that day for some new addiction(s). Then, you stumble upon your old photo album snugged up tightly amidst a bunch of forgotten memories. That photo album had been given to you by your favourite cousin as your first birthday gift at the age of sixteen. You smile as you remember the look on Nlerum’s face when you hugged him and painted his cheek with a pink thank-you kiss; that is a one-too-sweet memory that always leaves you smitten.

Curiosity, boredom and a little too much time on your hands kick in and find you plucking the album out, and seating on your newly made bed to flip through its pages of a piled-up-and-stashed-away past. Every picture of you holds a bright bold smile that is not your own anymore. You remember indeed that the album hosts some of the best days of your life– with or about Nlerum. He had either been the one taking the picture, or the one bombing it, or the reason behind the smile. Nlerum.

He was your second Cousin– the son of your mother’s first Cousin. You had met him occasionally at family parties (PS: Grammy’s birthdays were kind of made in Heaven) where he inspired your heart with his shy familiar smile, and afterwards, you had attended the “family school” and been entrusted to his care. You saw him as a big brother, although he was just three years older than yourself. And he loved you, oh he did. You had known; yet, you had thought it was just as a brother loved a sister– deeply, protectively, and that was that. But it had been more- a rippling-staggering-overfilling more. Nlerum had spoken love to you in all the languages that there were, but you had been too naive to hear it; or maybe you had just been an ardent ignoramus? It doesn’t matter. Hearts are made to be broken, and his had been broken by you.

“The heart was made to be broken”

-Oscar Wilde.

You flip the old album cover close now, and rid your eyes of the droplets of water waiting to fall. Nlerum. You remember you had seen the last of him about ten years ago, during his final year in school. You had bathed him with a dozen more pink kisses as you wailed about how you would miss him. That much had been true. He had asked you not to worry, as he would come check on you as often as he could. You saw his eyes, squinted in that manner that said he was dead serious about what he had just said. You had believed him. A few weeks after, Mama had called to tell you he died in a ghastly accident on his way to your school. You had wept, bitterly. At the funeral, and even days long after that. But now, as you remember, your sorrow is deeper. Something unnamed, and immeasurable.

You stare into bright nothingness, wondering if perhaps, there was something you could have; and in fact, should have done differently. And as you wonder, you rock yourself to Birdy’s Skinny Love, as it plays in your head in Nlerum’s voice.

joy and sorrow


© The Short Black Girl, 2016.

The Letter.

Dear You,

It’s been two weeks since I last heard, saw or read from you. Two weeks. Shockingly miserable! What happened baby? Last I remember, we were on a fairly good note; despite the subtle drama that played out towards the end of December, I thought we were good… can you now riddle me this distance?

It’s hard not to think of you. Through the long walk to and from school, the slow walk down Tesco’s, the jog to and from the Gym… every fucking alley, path, signpost and landmark reminds me of you. Even the bus station. The bus station baby. Remember? Remember the first day I met you was at the bus station? I was on my way to Fratton to get my hair done, and there you was… shuffling unhurriedly towards me… well, maybe not me- but to the bus station. It doesn’t matter anyway! And I had been humming sonorously to Simi’s Tiff and you said nothing– till we got on the bus, and you sneaked out of your male ego for a second to tell me I have the most beautiful voice ever! I blushed. But I deviate– the bus station. I have loved you from the very first time I set my eyes on you. My heart raced, my throat dried, my loins tightened… and that is how I feel every time I return there. Alone, and missing something I had once found before.

Oh baby, how can I forget you! Remember “The Other Side of Cool“, “Thought Rush“, “Rebound“, “The Mishap“? We wrote those together! Entangled in the tiny couch in my living room, my head on your chest; your hands in my hair… you inspired me, led me, taught me. And ah, “About Friday Night“, that will always remain one of my favourites! Because– because we made love right after the last fullstop in that piece, for the first time. We had laughed so much and teased about it. And you tickled me silly, till we were just a kiss apart. And you looked into my eyes, while I looked into yours. It was 7pm my head warned but gravity– gravity won! So we kissed, again for the first time. And your hands roamed through my body, deliciously. My spaghetti top and bum short gave way to a mass of nerves, and skin, and tightened peaks and hollow dips… it happened. And that has since been one of the most beautiful moments of my life, every other day my eyes met yours trumping the last.


Those three words are the most magic my head can make out now. I fucking miss you. I love you! Despite the crushes, and side attractions– you remain; in possession of my heart, containing the best parts of me that I ever knew. I find peace with you. I find wholeness in us. It’s hard to function these days– nothing works! Every damn thing reminds me of your hands in mine, or my lips melting inside yours, or you inside of me… I– I just can’t function.

So is this the end? You know I had written many other letters to you in the past (which I never sent). The first one in fury, the second in misery, the third an apology, the fourth sort of a quiz, the fifth– well, point is ‘ve always wanted to get in touch, to keep in touch, to write to you, read from you. But I couldn’t! I mean, it’s not me, it’s you! You left baby. You walked out that door without a word. Why should I be the one to say sorry? Why should I take you back even if you came begging?

Yet, I have resolved to grow past my childishness, insecurities, doubts and pride; and I have written you this letter to, more than recount the beautiful moments we shared and tell you I miss you, to say I am sorry for every wrong thing I might have said– and all the right ones I didn’t say. You. You, darling, are everything that matters to a dreamer like me. The ink, the paper, and the dream.

Lest I forget, my readers miss you too. And they want to know, dear Muse, is this the end of everything?

The Insecure Writer,
Miss Me.


Happy New Year lovelies!


© The Short Black Girl, 2016.