Bibanke

Today, I finally let go when her best friend told me, -thinking she was helping me answer a friend-, “once they start acting like they no longer care, it’s a waste of time to hold on. I’m a girl; I know what I’m talking about.” Few minutes later, I went to sleep feeling worse than I have in a very long time, maybe ever. But even in my slumber, my unforgiving brain, -whose logical reasoning I went against all those months ago-, plunged me back to painful awareness.
Being the only sources of relief and consolation, since people have proved themselves less than adequate, I turned to music and books. Opening Wattpad, the first few books I chose were below par but I soon found one that I easily got lost in, Paul Vincent’s “Astronomicon 3 : Those Left Behind”, accompanied with my second favourite playlist, I quickly forgot about my troubles and was lost in a world of imaginative wonder. Again, hunger and the thoughts of yam and vegetable oil brought me back to life, but my lethargic body and suffering heart moved on its own to my table, my hands found a book my favourite pen a “Lucky Corer” and I wrote, writing being a proven escape from this world when all else has failed.
Few lines of poetry later, and the playlist became more of a hindrance, so I switched to my favourite. Two songs into the list and I was on a cruise. Soul music is the very best, most especially Asa’s songs, they appeased and appealed to my soul. I was at this point, lost to a world of Asa’s creation and my pen was doing a frenzied dance on paper. I was a broken dam, the sheets; the unfortunate lands beyond my boundaries, ink soon flooded them. I loved this feeling, of total and absolute freedom, unbound to any shackle.
But the flow paused and I crashed back to earth when I heard, “you used to be my everything.” True.
‘Treated me like I was queen,’ well king but still, true.
I also want to, no, need to know, “What spell did you cast on me, oh so that I might believe,” I who prided in finding out when people were being less than truthful.
“Oh God I was a fool,” if there’s anything worse.
“You became my bad habit”, and man, I indulged.
There was no picking your things leaving the keys, and I definitely am not going to cry. The last of my tear I shed when I was 11.
“Mo ti f’oro mi f’oluwa”, well I have issues with God and I’m pretty sure, my dysfunctional love life is not on his to-do list. Maybe he didn’t even mean for me to have one.
“Iwo iwo nikan soso, iwo iwo nikan soso,” you truly were all I had, now all is but all lost.
“Just leave me alone…” was the last word I registered as I crashed from another high and feeling absolutely spent, I decided to go cook that yam, I needed after all, to be alive to feel the pain.
Myself would not wallow in self-pity with me, because, one year and four months ago, he warned me to not let a heart I had never before trusted take over, to be forewarned. I now laugh at and berate myself for being so astonishingly stupid.
Tomorrow, I will again put on my look of indifference and resume my act of emotional detachment, an act perfected over the years.
But it hurts, dear lord it hurts.
The song end and ‘Satan be gone’ comes on. How very apropos.