By @maskuraid
Our last conversation was exactly two years ago. I remember clearly what you wore, how dashing you looked dressed in a white long-sleeved shirt, blue Jeans and those hideously expensive blue Nike sneakers you’d bought during our honeymoon trip to Johannesburg. I can remember clearly where you sat, on the red leather settee facing the sitting room window. How can I forget the way the light danced on your face, highlighting your cheekbones and your finely sculpted sideburns, the way my heart constricted; almost choking my thoughts, because you looked so handsome and I couldn’t just believe you were mine. Asa’s ‘Bibanke’ playing from your big Nokia phone was the perfect soundtrack to the romantic setting. There you were, nodding along to the beat as I drank in the ambience, content in the moment, until you started to speak and everything came crashing down.
Of course you didn’t notice my reaction, the sharp intake of breath, an indication of the enormity of my hurt. To you it was nothing, as usual, but your words struck mortal blows, opening deep wounds, from which my heart is yet to heal. They have stayed with me ever since and who knows for how long more.
It’s been two years since our last conversation and I miss you. I miss the warmth of your smile, the light in your eyes and the beautiful ring of your laugh. My arms ache as they long to hold you again, in that loving embrace. I miss the way you squeal in delight, when we tickle and kiss. I miss our long rambling walks, how we used to debate and discuss. I miss all of you, like darkness misses the light. I miss you so much and it breaks my heart that I miss you so bad. I miss you darling and even the heavens can testify, that every day, I wish you’d kept quiet just that once. Maybe if you had, fate wouldn’t have been tempted and you’d still be here by my side, alive.