When the days light up,
And life sparks up,
All I think about is you:
Your visceral existence in my life;
Your beyond-cerebral relevance to my existence.
The tapestry with which your love swoons me is beyond incredulous,
Magnanimous in its dispensation, yet un-overwhelming in its reality.
You; subtly meshing these two polar extremes
In ways that set fire to my soul but calmness to my body.
An unbelievable dichotomy of experiences,
Happening at the same time, with every second I spend in your presence.
This is love defined! This is love you give!
Never in a million years would I have thought this possible.
But you love in ways that take my breath away, yet making my world so breathable.
Every day, you sing the songs of your surreal love to me, through your words,
And every day I believe them.
Every day I see you act them out in unimaginable ways.
In ways that dumbfound my soul, and strike the most beautiful chords in me.
In ways that put my own expressions of love to the questions;
Do I love you enough? Can I do more? Can I be more?
That is love in its raw form. That is love you give.
You, and your love, are the peace to my being.
You are the being that is being the essence to my being, ever since your presence in my life came to be.
You are the being that I love.
You are the being that makes me always want to say;
“I love you.”
She couldn’t believe the things she just read. A letter, to her, by this amazing man that calls himself her boyfriend. Lola peered around the room, wondering whether he had set some cameras somewhere to watch her reaction secretly. It’s not beyond him. He had done it once when he had set his room up last year with the most beautiful birthday decoration she had ever seen, and they both watched a playback of how she had been jumpy and giddy in his absence (though he was in his neighbors room, waiting out her excitement). This time, she flushed with glee. Her insides dancing like leaf over a gentle river, gliding to and fro to the tune of the beautiful words he had just conjured on paper. For her. The words, on paper, appeared with edges aligned like waves, with crescendos that topple the lid on the excitement in her heart till it could no longer contain. At some points, she could read the speed of the stanzas. At some points, he slows down to help her soak the gentle and delicate phrases he strung together. This is love defined. This is love you give.
Away from his table where Lola had picked up the open journal he wrote the poem, she settled on his bed. Her legs folded up, under her upper thighs, as her back sank into his pillow against the wall. She read the poem again. More gently this time. His voice blooming through the words in her head with its typical rich, careful masculinity. She wondered when he’d be back.
Finally, she got to the last line. “I love you.”
This was beautiful. Lola unpacked her bag, in search of her earpiece. A ‘chillstep youtube music for programming’ would help her soak these words as she was certainly going to read the poem a third time.
Alighting from her crazy bolt driver’s car, she was in her foulest mood for the week. But these words. These words just sent so much calmness to her spine. This is stargazing! This was certainly what @ElizabethAjao_ from Twitter meant when she said “Dating a writer >>>>>>>>”
Then she wondered if he was done with the poem. What if he didn’t want her to see it yet? What if it was a poem in the works for her birthday? The questions lingered till Lola reclined on the bed, her legs stretched towards the headrest. Asleep, she fell.
“I’ve always told you; you sleep like a baby,” Kunle said gently as he planted a kiss on her nose while her eyelids flapped timidly open.
For someone with lofty ambitions, Lola loved sleeping. She pulled him into an embrace by the neck as she buried his lips in hers. His hands and eyes spelt his surprise, but his lips continued swimming in the tenderness of hers’. Like pieces of a puzzle, their lips and jaws fit, with a slight head-tilt to accommodate Lola’s briefly pointed nose. He puckered. She returned the favor with savor. She rose to her knees on the bed, coming to a perfectly balanced height with him as he stood on his sacred floor. His hands wrapped around her waist, fighting all the urges to smooch around. This was somewhat of a celebratory kiss for her. Since he didn’t know what had washed over her with all these emotions, it was best to let her lead.
“You wrote that poem for me?” her face lit up as they separated.
Confusion. Utter confusion. More confusion. Kunle wondered what poem she spoke of. Then she held the journal up. Glee written all over her face. Her smile; from end to end. Lola was an embodiment of beauty. A being that makes his heart race whenever and wherever. Dressing brilliantly always came easy to her. This time, her hair was in a bun, her body in a white shirt that’s pulled, relaxed to the back, on an ash elastic skirt that hugged her curves scintillatingly. Simple yet incredible. Maybe it wasn’t about the clothes. Maybe she just made every dress look great. Whatever the answer, all he could say was “you look beautiful.”
“Yes, I know. You say that all the time. Is this a poem for my birthday? You know I don’t like suspense,” she giddied up to him, demanding an answer with all her body and eyes. Her eyelids flapping rapidly, with her white eyeballs shining underneath.
“Come here” Kunle said, pulling her from the bed.
By the now-open window, his hands wrapped around her from behind like a curtain. Lola leaned into him, absorbing the warmth from his body, letting out a soft moan of satisfaction. Her happy place. He knew that. This was the spot she loved the most in his room. By the open window, looking out over the city from this house in the elevated part of the city. The view was always incredible at night, just like now.
“You still haven’t answered my question.” She persisted. “Because while I was reading, my tummy did fill with butterflies fluttering in waves.”
Kunle’s laugh was boisterous. Deep. Reassuring. Calming.
“No babe. Today is Easter Sunday. This letter is for Jesus. I was just trying to describe what I feel when I think of his love for me, and obviously I still failed.”
Lola’s eyes closed in brief embarrassment. There she was, jumping and jubilating over poetry birthed for another person.
“But hey! You are also Christ on earth. So, the poem is also for you” Kunle said, his hug firmer.
“Don’t even dare try to salvage the situation. Nonsense.” Laughter spilled out of her.
A brief silence ensued. Persisted. Then she spoke. “But what did you mean that you failed?” she asked, curious.
He let out a sigh. Played with her hair. Buried a kiss in her head. Then spoke. “If you, a human, could read it and genuinely feel like those words were directed at you. Then I failed. Words describing the love of God should be so heavy and grand that no human would feel worthy of them. You get?”
“I don’t think it matters to God. As long as our hearts delight in him, and we praise him with our mouths the best way we can, I think he’s fine. That’s why the best worship is probably in the spirit. Don’t you think?”
The moon, the object of their gaze, shone brightly and fully in the dark skies. An inkling of the incredibility of the Godhead. The Godhead whose ways are beyond finding out.
“Read the poem for me. In the way you’ll read it as spoken words.” Lola asked.
Two coughs. Three shoulder lifts and cracks. Four sideways neck-stretches. Kunle began reading.
When the days light up,
And life sparks up,
All I think about is you:
Your visceral existence in my life;
Your beyond-cerebral relevance to my existence.
The tapestry with which your love swoons me is beyond incredulous;
Magnanimous in its dispensation, yet un-overwhelming in its reality.
You; subtly meshing these two polar extremes
In ways that set fire to my soul but calmness to my body.
An unbelievable dichotomy of experiences,
Happening at the same time, with every second I spend in your presence.
This is love defined! This is love you give!
Never in a million years would I have thought this possible.
But you love in ways that take my breath away, yet making my world so breathable.
Every day, you sing the songs of your surreal love to me, through your words,
And every day I believe them.
Every day I see you act them out in unimaginable ways.
In ways that dumbfound my soul, and strike the most beautiful chords in me.
In ways that put my own expressions of love to the questions;
Do I love you enough? Can I do more? Can I be more?
That is love in its raw form. That is love you give.
You, and your love, are the peace to my being.
You are the being that is being the essence to my being, ever since your presence in my life came to be.
You are the being that I love.
You are the being that makes me always want to say;
“I love you.”
As his voice tapered off, it really did make sense to Lola. “Those words were really for Jesus.”
He laughed. “Where did all the butterflies go?” He asked
“To the heavens!” She shouted. She turned in his embrace, held his gaze for a few seconds, and kissed into his heart.
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Happy Easter Everyone. Whenever you see this mail, Kindly forward it to a loved one.
or
You write so well👏🏽
This is really good. Well done, you!