Tired and forlorn,
My gaze smirks at the moonlit sky,
Losing count every time I struggle to keep awake.
These stars don't help.
The night is dead silent,
No frog croaks, no noisy crickets.
I can hear myself breath.
From the corner of my eye,
I am in full view of two love birds,
Completely lost in each other,
quenching a thirst that seems groundbreaking.
They remind me of Cynthia.
My heart sinks,
Shoulders fall.
It has been four hours since she said she was on her way here,
Did she get lost?
Or did she just lie?
No. She can't lie,
At least not to me.
But somewhere at the back of my mind,
I feel this is a losing battle,
And as I force myself to sleep,
I try to hug myself.
I swear I don't know.
Khayesi,
Darling daughter of the west.
Her laughter full of promises,
The dimples on her cheeks add stars to her crown.
Welcoming smile,
Big, beautiful eyes,
Pregnant with hope.
She has a familiar accent,
an accent that takes me closer to home.
She talks to me,
No, she whispers in my ears,
whispers loud enough to make me deaf.
I know she'll give in,
Because I still see the village in her,
The village I so want to take advantage of,
Before she gets accustomed to the ways of this town.
It has been two weeks now,
No word, no phone call.
She avoids me like plague,
and I can't help but notice the cold in the forced handshakes.
Darling Khayesi.
Damaris,
Her tears of laughter are a site I long for.
For a moment I can't tell whether I am suddenly a comedian,
Or if it is me she is laughing at,
But I have my pull on this one.
I love the way she walks,
The way she sips her tea, magical.
There's something special about everything she does.
I even love the way she holds her pen,
The way she bites her lower lip.
I love the colour of her eyes, perfect.
My friends tell me its an irk,
That she doesn't do those things I want her to do.
So I decide to shut myself out of their world.
I want Damaris.
It has been eight days now
since I sent that daring text.
I told her I wanted her,
I wanted her everything.
I was specific about the fruits.
I thought I was being frank.
Look at me now,
Still stuck with my pen,
Non existent in her world.
I died before I was born.
Kate,
A gem I couldn't help staring at.
Her rare sense of humour told me she was the one.
Bubbly laughter,
Defined waistline,
Marvelous hands,
Bewitching lips.
She articulated in the most elegant way,
Her face reflected maturity.
She wasn't the most beautiful around,
But yeah, her heart was clean.
For now, that's all that mattered.
Am standing at her door right now,
one last look at the bouquet on my hands,
And I know nothing can wound my ego now.
I press the bell,
1 second, 2 seconds,
Approaching footsteps and then the door flies open.
The last I remember is a hairy chest against my smooth chin on the floor,
Blood and sweat,
The wounds of which I nurse to date.
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