Strings

I’m not sure if it’s the way he looked into my eyes as he drew me close. Or. The way he kept whispering into my ear with his dreamy voice. Or. The way he made me dance with him when the band played sondela by Ringo. Or the way he was acting all possessive, like I’m his alone and he don’t share. Never. Ever. Or. The way he held my hand, like he will never. Ever. Let go. Or. The way he smiled with his eyes before kissing my forehead. Or. The way he grabbed my butt through the pockets of my jeans. Or. The way he pinned me against the wall letting butterflies roam free in my stomach. Or. The way he hugs me hello every single time. Or. The way he makes sure my champagne glass is filled all the time. Or. The way he calls in the middle of the day just to check whether I’m alright. Or. The way he’s so honest with me. Or. The way I feel when I get the random delivery of my favourite flowers and chocolate? Or. The way he leaves cheesy ‘Rest, I’ll bring food. XOXO’ notes on my nightstand.

I’m not sure if it is the way he single handedly chose me in a room full of people. Or. The way he drives all the way to come give me a new pair of socks because winter is here. Or. The way he rubs my back even if he doesn’t know how to because he knows that it will ease the stomach cramps. Or. The way he kisses the back of my hand and places it on his heart and sings some Emeli Sandé songs to me. Or. The way he video calls just to show me his fresh cut. Or. The way he says my lil butt is perfect. Athi ngimuhle. Or. The way he makes me laugh till I cry. And cry till I laugh again. Or. The way he massages my feet, telling me how ugly my toes are and still giving my feet equal love. Or. The way he let’s me be matchy matchy with him. Once a year haha. Or. The way he takes me to watch the sunset and city lights from a breath grabbing view.

See. I am still not sure what it is that made me send the text message. Haha who am I kidding. The fear of falling for a man who has no intentions of making me his. And. Goddamn. These butterflies. Fuck these butterflies. Can’t they be tamed? So much for no strings attached. The strings that have intertwined into ropes. Ropes so thick and strong.

Listen. He’s seen the message. Fingers crossed. Two hours. Nothing. Two days. Nothing. Two weeks. Nothing. Oh God! I still cannot believe I have been played for a red nose. White face paint. A green wig. And brightly coloured clothes. A clown.

Dear Lord

We are just having fun we called it. Then I started showing up in matching panties and bras. He started buying me thoughtful gifts. I thought maybe just maybe. Then I started cooking hearty meals for him. He started calling in the middle of the day just to check on me. I thought maybe just maybe. Then I started doing his laundry. He introduced me to his family. As a friend. He has never brought a girl home they said. Nail. Hook. Sinker. I was a goner. I should have known better. Doing wife duties on a ? Wait. What? Situationship tender? There were strings from day one. Pulling. Controling me like I was a puppet. Or maybe I am. Popeyesm!

I realize now. I allowed myself to stand on sinking sand. Now I can’t breath. I can’t even bring myself to cry it out. But of course umzenzi kakhalelwa. But well I should have known that in a generation where being a hoe is life I would eventually get burnt. Charred beyond recognition. I keep falling into the hands of wrong people who leave me drained and questioning myself. I keep ignoring my instincts knowing well that small quiet voice is you directing me. Help me forgive myself. I pray for a real one. Who will see how much of a wholesome bombass person I am. And be willing to ride with me till forever. In the meantime may you please work on my character, personality, my entire being. May I make decisions in line with your word. In Jesus’s name,

Owakho in entanglements

Lwandle