Letters To Rachael

 

Dear Rachael,

They say love is blind, but I think it’s just deep-sighted. It makes you close your eyes and see with your mind. And that’s how you do me, Stranger; you make me see with my mind.

Sometimes I see us, you and I, and we have neither past nor present, no unmet expectations, no broken promises; only possibilities.

Sometimes I feel you when I see you in my mind, and you feel like a fresh start, like a new year resolution, like the anticipation, the space between two lovers just before a kiss. Sometimes, you’re like fireworks on new year’s eve.

And let me tell you, dear Rachael, you’re a question I look forward to, the answer I will have to wait for, and I have waited; through diamond studded nights, and the humid dog days of crawling Lagos Januaries; through dinners with no date, and weddings with sixteen bridesmaids and no potential. I waited till time stood still and eternity crawled into my shell to wait with me. And so we sat there, curled up in the fetal position, waiting to be reborn, waiting to molt our hearts.

But this is me, the unfeeling, adopted son of a fountain pen, who locked away his feelings and lost the keys. This is me finding courage to break the box. This is me emptying myself.

Sometimes I wonder how I got here, but I’m not complaining. It’s been a long road and there were no signs. I’m just trying to save the memories that cling to me. Someday, you’ll help me tell this story.

Sincerely,

Ashiwel.