😒😒A Letter to the Living Dead😒😒

I have written before
But, I will write some more
My letters do reach you and I hope you’ll answer

My dearest husband, this isn’t the life we dreamt of, and that doesn’t cause me pain. What hurts me is that you created us and broke us when you sighted a virtual petite half your age.
I now live in permanent fear because I dread the question, what will I tell them when they begin asking about you?
Should I lie?

Or do I just make it clear that my thighs weren’t warm enough to bring you home? Will these children understand? Because I have seen the question in their eyes, it just remains unspoken.

Forgive me for not beginning with a greeting of any kind, for 9 years are too long and a lot have changed in this life and so are my priorities. This is a microwave age, you hit the spot, no dilly-dallying. Plus, wouldn’t greeting you unearth the beautiful memories I’ve buried in our backyard?

I don’t want to remember you, at least as the man I married. These memories are razors too sharp to cut, so they burn: all the dreams of our children, all the promises we made to them in the hospital, and all the longings of my heart for the man you were before short skirts short wired your brain.

I had seen it coming, the siren was loud enough to awaken the dead but it wasn’t loud enough to enlighten a fool in love. The nights were lonely and sleep was elusive, the nights you locked yourself in your study and wore your thick glasses and began your lessons, only for sexual noises to flood my room hours later.

And I would hear you unlocking the bedroom door and slink into my sheets, you’d spend the night moaning strange names and shit talking. It might have taken long but I knew the internet woman had taken my place in your loins.

And I hoped, prayed, and wrote letters to heaven to give me my husband back, but all the while you had gotten used to flawless thighs the world had to offer, albeit virtually.
I wasn’t a woman enough to satisfy your sexual needs, but d’you mean to say a motion picture is warmer than me? It would be different if you cheated with a living female, but I swallowed my pride and prayed some more for things to change.

Every night as I tucked my children, I hugged them tighter, and in every hug was a whispered prayer that they might have a taste of the man I married. The loving husband, the caring father and the foundation of our home but you were too busy making love to your virtual women to chorus the Hail Mary refrain.

The morning you left, I cried. It seemed like any other day but my intuition told me otherwise, deep down I knew there was no conference, but I still waited for the two weeks to elapse in the belief that you couldn’t desert your children. It’s now 9 years and the conference isn’t over yet.

I have heard rumours, of sworn affidavits and changed names. I have also heard rumours of short skirts and young women and late night diners, I was happy when I heard the latter for I knew you were learning to be a man again.

Just so you know, I haven’t been idle, shoot, I’ve got children to feed and school and though we were thrown into the streets like wild dogs, heavens opened its gates and ushered us in. I now have a job, my children are learning with white kids, perhaps they’re taught how to be men.

But wait?

Isn’t that ironical? That the same whites who taught my husband how not to be a man can teach my kids how to be men? I think I need a new school.

Certainly, I didn’t write this letter to tell you all this, what I want is simple. Meet your kids. Give them a chance of knowing how not to be a father.

Don’t ask how I got your address, I changed my name too. And it’s a small world. I’m so sorry I couldn’t approve your tender, my corporation only works with real humans. 😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂

For a Fallen Twin Brother

Hello, how are you? I’m curious. It’s not that I’m not concerned, but you see if you brought a sexually starved bachelor into a room full of naked women and dared to gauge the rise in testosterone and gastrin hormones, wouldn’t the highest be obvious? So is my curiosity. As you know, none of the people I hold dear that had departed ever came back to tell me how the land yonder is. These are miracles reserved for people of Lazarus’s privileges, you failed to qualify too but I would have loved to get a two way communication between us , brother what channel do we use, Prayer? No. If I prayed in conversation with a dead brother I might be termed a devil worshiper; there’s a notion that people who die turn to ghost and devils, the latter is more common. The penalty for conversing with a devil, my pastor says, is eternal fires of hell.
Irrespective, I’ll tell you a few things about this world you left unduly. Here nothing is easy, there are metrics that we found already set, not that the bars they set for us were too high that we couldn’t meet but it just makes no sense to force Lionel Messi to hit the bull’s eye when the game of darts doesn’t involve the use of feet. Particularly, it hasn’t been cool with me, I have been branded names. Brother, we would have shared these names if you were here, believe me there’s nothing as weighty as a demeaning brand. It blankets your self-esteem and floors your confidence and before you know it you’ll remain an indoor mouse that complains of all he lacks but is too ashamed to step out of the door and look for all he needs. Brother, I’m ashamed to say that I have been this mouse, everything about my existence has a dark side. I knew this because everything good I did always had a diversion.
When every conversation about you has a ‘but’ as a conjunction you’ll know that your present has joined forces with your dark history to rub your trace from the map of human existence. After all, I believe it was omission of ‘t’ in butt that formed ‘but’, nothing good comes from ‘butts’. Sometimes I wish that you were here, other times I’m glad that you left before they branded you a misfit. I have all names that I wear daily, profanities held on placards and iniquities flawlessly inscribed on my forehead. Even as I write, I have to beg my hands to continue typing, I no longer want to please them. But brother who doesn’t need approval? Especially after being spat out like spoilt milk? I have lived in denial, I have lied to myself that I don’t need anyone’s approval but the truth is there are days when I just need someone to tell me that I’m on the right track. When no one does, I fail to know my destination.
Brother, I would like to tell you so much, about technology, there’s whatsup, facebook, twitter, IG among others but this short letter isn’t really about me and my space; it’s about you! Why did you leave so quickly?
Do you know how painful it is to live as two different beings in one lifetime?
I’d love to say I hate you, but hate arrived late when the apartments of my heart were already in rubbles, all that’s left is tiny cage holding my love for you hostage. This love has been held here for so long I need to check its expiry date. How irrational of you to depart and leave a part of you? Do you know we shared same breasts? Or did I suckle too much that you died of starvation? Tell me twin bro, I can’t find the right answer, my conscience is bugging me. Did I take all the love our mother had to offer, so much that you saw no point in living in a world devoid of love? For your consolation, mom died few years after you left, she didn’t even raise me. Does that make us even?
Brother, I need you. I have stood before the mirror so many times just tracing a hint of your face but nothing forms that could depict the beautiful image my heart holds of you. Besides I see you in abstracts, nothing physical, whenever I think of you I see love, kindness, creativity and tenacity. The latter is more boldly engraved than the rest, I guess this is why I believe that you were the executor because you can hold on to the wheels even when your hands they grind. I can never do that. You see, I can only form mental pictures but you were gifted to bring them to reality. You’ve rendered me useless brother, for what is the need of a dreamer without the executor?
There’s a ship in friendship that ferries friends to their destiny, but ours left me stranded at the cove as you chose a shortcut to end all this. You’re a coward, you should have looked death in the eye and told him ‘not yet, you aren’t taking me alone I am not leaving without my twin brother’
The same way there’s a hood in brotherhood, a feeling of belonging, and being appreciated, my hood scoured all the worthy memories of us, now emptiness hovers around my heart like a dark soot in a clear sky. But I still hope that one day, you’ll be here to answer my questions. I’m not done but I’ve got to go to work. I didn’t tell you, I work for seven days a week for a little pay just to keep my son alive!