DENOUNCED — I should have come to you sooner
My knees and floorboard have become the best of pals these past weeks. I’ve been praying. Usually, I sit with my back towards the wall and offer worship and supplication to the one who hears the cries of my heart. Lately, I’ve been pleading incessantly for him to take this pain away. I cry out. My voice thunders through the walls of my room and immediately trickles into mumbling. Regardless of how much I pour it out, this depth of love seems to be unending–a bottomless layering of grief.
You keep evading the sanctity of my dreams; I can hardly sleep. When I’m awake, you run circles in my head. I keep blaming myself for everything I could have done differently, said differently and maybe I should have come to you a little sooner. If I could rewrite time, I would take the pen and it would be both of us living happily ever after. This is not tangled where I get the girl at the end. But I would have loved to watch “How to Train Your Dragon” with you in a place we call home.
I’m not trying to get a do-over. It’s clear you do not want our spirits intertwined to become one. “ I denounce you, Temitope,” rings in my ears like the bell that gathers children to say their morning prayers. It hurts. My heart, like the bread we break in communion, shatters into more pieces than I ever imagined, each fragment a quiet offering of sorrow laid at the feet of grace, seeking healing. I hope you enjoyed your birthday. I’m coming home. If our paths cross, I hope my heart doesn’t betray me; I pray it’s strong enough to fight the panic attacks.
I fear the day you become ordinary in my eyes, and I can write love poems without you at the back of my mind. I do not look forward to the day when sunsets battle with your smile for what captures beauty in its truest essence. You win, always. I do not want to see a Hamilton poster without thinking of you, and I want to send you multiple pictures of my pancakes. I’ve not made pancakes since our love went sour.
I remember before I left, I said, “I sang a song in Ibadan, and I know if you were there, I’d sing it to you. But you are on the other side, and soon I’ll be miles away from seeing you. I know that one day, I don’t know where it could be in a house with a fireplace in the cold winter of Canada or touring the lovers’ city of Paris, but I’ll be there, I’ll be around, and I’ll be right next to you. But right now, it’s crazy, and I don’t know how to stop or slow it down. My heart is aching; I want to stay, be here, be with you. And I know it’s not logical, but with you, I’ll gladly lose all sense of reasoning. I just want to hold you. So take a piece of my heart, make it all your own…”
I’m coming home and you’re not there. I guess I was wrong. I’m sorry.
I’m Seuncaleb, Omo ìfẹ́, and these words are meant to be felt. I have a new book on the way, “Things I Want to Say to You Before Eternity Comes,” you can preorder it here.
