I LOVED YOU

My eyes bled when you left.

Right before our callousness, our memories faded like blue.
My heart can't even remember the rhythm of our love.
The nooks of my heart that your love like yeast puffed up melted like ice.

I don't pray for your sky to be ill or wish for your indifference to heal.
I only want you to mourn this gift we couldn't keep.
I rather you mourn this thing that we once had.

Love is not sick, we are.
Time didn't put us here, we did.
It was funny how we needed victories but couldn't swallow the little wars.
It is still funny.

I'm not sorry that you couldn't stay.
I'm not sorry that you thought I was too much for you.
I'm not sorry for you.
I'm only sorry that I believed you when you said we could work.
I'm sorry I loved you in full when you could only receive in bits.
I'm still sorry.

BROKEN CRAYONS STILL COLOUR

Yeah, I've missed you too. Of course, I have some gists for you. One gist, actually. 

We did our first online exhibition @ The Green Sheriffs from 26 August to 2 September. It was lit, if I do say so myself. Here's my piece. 

Humpty Dumpty sat on the wall
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall
All the king’s horses and all the king’s men
Couldn’t Humpty Dumpty together again
-  LEWIS CARROLL, Alice Through the Looking Glass.

The way I see it, we all have our not-so-lighted sides, the sides that still retain scars and stitches from our infamous brokenness. It gets sewn into us, into the very fabric of our persons, and like marriage, we become one with it. No doubt, it costs us an arm and a leg. Our feigned smiles and laughter do a nice makeup job. The makeup almost covers up the blood and sweat. If you ask me, I think it makes us thick. Yeah, I know you didn’t ask but it's my blog.

You see, we are humans and the offspring of our parents. We do well almost the only thing we’ve been taught; to fix everything that is broken around us or to die trying. But not all broken things can be fixed. Not all broken things should be fixed. It is not always true that when it’s broken it is bad. Don't jump to conclude that it's useless if it can’t be fixed, that it's hopeless. For that is the problem, the reason for our needless search for what already is. 

There’s hope for brokenness. There’s virtue in brokenness. Maybe all the king’s horses and all the king’s men shouldn’t bother fixing Humpty Dumpty. Maybe Humpty Dumpty doesn't need putting together. I like the thought that my friend, Ope, shared when we started this project, she says BROKEN CRAYONS STILL COLOUR and I couldn’t agree more!

Back in Ezoti Primary School, I particularly loved whole crayons, kind of the way short women love tall men. To me, they were beautiful until they broke, then I’ll cast and bind them into the least accessible region of my red backpack. The ugliness that it became when it was broken distracted me from seeing the glory of what could become my painting. To me, it was damaged. It was funny because right before my eyes, my friend, Eseosa bled them into colourful pictures. He often annoyingly said that they were even easier to use. As I write this now, I realize that the problem was not with the "damaged" crayons, but with me. Unlike me, Eseosa understood that crayons will not always come whole. But either way, they colour.

Life will give you your own fair share of yawa, so get used to it. Maybe you’ve carefully arranged your dreams, career, or business and life just crashes in and breaks them fairly bad. At some point, life will break you. I'm sorry, but it will. It will hand you a tragedy, the kind you’ve only seen happen to Cinderella, Okonkwo, and Mara&Clara. It is then up to you to pick up your broken remain and write a sequel. Scare life and write a comedy (again, a piece of advice you didn't ask for. Still my blog). 

Maybe, just maybe Humpty Dumpty ain’t gone after all.
...   ...   ...   ...   ...   ...   ...   ...  ...  ...   ...

Until next time (hopefully soon, I'll miss you too).