This is not the first time I scroll through our chats on WhatsApp
Or subconsciously part my lips into a smile as I do so
‘Making you happy makes me happier…’
‘What we have is beautiful and you’re even more beautiful…’
Once again, I lose my grasp on reality
I tear out a piece of paper, start to write a poem, just for you
With each word I birth, fantasies slowly make their way back to consciousness
I stop halfway…
Memories!
Merciless ravagers of dreams
Set before me the true colours of what we are now
I paint my unfinished poem grey- it used to be black and white
A subtle reminder
That all things come to an end
The warmth of your arms at dusk
The sound of your voice in my ears at dawn
The aurora in your eyes, whose beauty I never fathomed could fade
When we met yesterday, at the crossroad to forever and maybe
We said hi to each other, and that was it
I sang a ballade to console myself
Now, I add the melody to my grey poem
And watch them blend cautiously
A part of me still yearns for you
To have those silly conversations again
To give without expectations, to be content being yours
All things come to an end
Today is our turn. We end as a grey, somewhat-poetic ballade
On a brittle piece of paper that I set ablaze
And watch it burn gracefully
A blurry symbol of what we once were and never will be
Exuding ruthless flames that burn out my voice
And force me to scream out your name
All things come to an end
This is ours
Photo by Nick Fewings on Unsplash
About the author:
JLF Maikaho is a nocturnal empath whose life revolves around writing, mysticism, rain, Aljazeera and dogs, with regular bouts of ennui. Her works, like her personality constantly travel from science to the arts and back, while stopping in between to sing and dance. In this poem, she muses on the anguish of facing the transience of things. JLF writes from Gombe, Nigeria.
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A poem well penned to live in the hearts of the beloved.