It hurts knowing that you’re never going to read this letter. Believe me when I say you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever set my eyes on, but what hurts even more is that you’ve never heard me say it, and you never may.
I’m sorry, but I should have told you the first time we met at that Spoken Word event that I loved the way your eyes glisten when a line goes through your heart and kisses your tender soul. And that when you smile, the sun gets jealous.
I never wanted to perform that night, but I quickly handed my name to the organizers. I just wanted to look you directly in the eye from the stage, and tell you that your presence fills my essence with a wanting I can’t explain. But I had to do that using metaphors hoping that since those words were from my heart, when they go through your heart to kiss your beautiful soul, they will say hi to you for me. I’m sorry I never said it myself. I really wanted to, but there were so many people around you. Crowds make me uncomfortable. I didn’t even know how I’d gotten the courage to perform that night. I guess what they say is true, no height is high enough for love to climb. I’d gone home that night with you on my mind, in my thoughts, and my dreams. I’d called the organisers the very next day but none of them knew you. I felt my eyes moisten when I thought I may never set my eyes on you again. Ah! Nke m, even though you’re not mine and never may be, I’d just call you mine. Nke m, my joy knew no bound when I saw you coming out from a house in my estate. I remember that evening as clearly as I remember my name. You were dressed in a white flowery gown with your hair resting sweetly on the bare part of your shoulders and I thought to myself, ‘If angels exist, this must be what they look like.’ I rushed into my house, picked up my pen, and wrote a poem of what it would feel like to have my lips greet yours, and my tongue trace the contours of your lips down to your neck. I wrote a poem of us waking up to the sunrise on a beach, and kissing till the sunset, then doing it all over again. Just last night, I wrote a poem of us in our eighties; of our grandchildren and the flowers in our garden. The night before, I wrote a poem about our wedding night.
These are poems you’ll never read. And this letter right here, is one out of a thousand I’ve written to you – letters you’ll never see. It’s been two years since I first set my eyes on you, and it still feels like yesterday.
They say I’m extremely introverted. I guess they’re right. I feel it’s a curse. But till it’s lifted, I’d continue walking right behind you every evening during your evening walks for that has become my routine as well. Perhaps one day, you’d walk beside me, not ahead of me. Perhaps one day, the words in my poems will come true. Just perhaps…