Diary of a Lover II

Prisoner of Love

It took just one day to fall in love with Osarome; little moment of closeness, of eye contacts – sizing ourselves, measuring love as with a cup. We couldn’t even express ourselves, our desires. We were so shy like that, afraid, of what would happen, of what would not happen. It was difficult to hold hands or even cuddle. I was scared of many things I didn’t know; of things I needed to be certain about - Infatuation. Crush. Love. Which? It wasn’t easy.

That day, she told me how Ben used to abandon her for days, weeks, even months running after other girls. “I don’t like being away from my boyfriend. But he did not understand. He never cared, yet I loved her.” Now she wonders if she could love again. I understand everything, and that is the trouble with what I feel now - time and distance would be our enemy.

My affection for Osarome grew by the day. I tried to tame it, despite what I felt, to make it understand that Osa lived far from me; that she hates to be away from her boyfriend. I tried my best but my effort was all but vain. I was perpetually condemned to what I felt for her. The only option was to continue to love her, near or far. And so, little by little I found myself gradually dissolving into a passive lovebird, bird without wings else I would have flown to Maiduguri, wherever she was just to be with her. Poor lover boy! I was fast becoming a prisoner – prisoner of love.

Oh Osarome! Did she even know how much I loved her? Obviously drowned in love - after she departed - and unable to cope with the disturbing sting of her absence, I called her every day. I sent mails on yahoo and facebook, mails most times unreturned. But it was never enough. Now I can only dream. I recall with nostalgia those moments with her at the park, the only opportunity I had to touch her velvet skin, to brush the hairs on her ebony arms. I imagine the beauty that grace her tender face, the clarity and precision with which she produced every word. I try to imagine what she would say if I touched her: push me away and call me names? Or look at me with a renewed, rejuvenated passion and hold my hand to her skin and whisper sweet words in my ears? I imagine so many things now. I will always remember her; the look, the smile, the laughter…and then the unwillingness to go: memories of an angel.

Two weeks later, I got a text on my cell phone. I was on my way back to school, Osa sent me a message. It was her first text to me, a confirmation text I called it: “Every finish line is the beginning of a new race. When I looked into your eyes, you got me hooked with your love controller…I am tripping, but ian’t falling over. I am not the one easy to get to. But all that changed when I met you. Tell me what you like because what you tell me is what I like.”

I pressed my little phone against my chest and closed my eyes. I was on cloud number 9. “Truly, I am in love, once again,” I said to myself. My fears started to disappear. But there were still questions in my heart. Didn’t she mind about having boyfriend far away from her anymore? The answer was handy: things change. Love change things. Looking out the window the trees waved endlessly. Satisfied, I drifted into a reverie: and there she was, right in my arms, cuddled, at peace. I looked at her, an angelic figure. She smelt of fine fragrance, not of fashion cologne, something in the semblance of nectar; I could feel her breath, gently rising and falling. I brushed her hair and made a trace between her apples, tot the lower parts. And she moaned pleasurably.

It was the sharp galloping of the car that jolted me. No problems, we will not be far from each other as we thought after all. Love conquers all barriers.

I returned to school drenched in her thought. It wasn’t difficult to see. I spent more time with her on the phone than ever: morning, afternoon and night. But all these were never enough. And that worried me much. Gradually, as if washed by persistent rain, Osa became an abstract figure, someone that only lived in my dreams. She doesn’t call anymore. No text messages. And she hardly picks my calls. I couldn’t understand it.  I think of the day she wrote to say, “I won’t leave you”. I think of the day we met. I think of Fred and his casual philosophy on love. I am mad. I want to curse. But no. I do not curse the one I love. I remember a mail I sent her once, this one:

My Osarome,

It has been ages since I watched you slip into that cab. It wasn’t easy for you. I saw it. You wished you could stay a little longer. But you had to go. You did. Today, I write to remind you of everything; of the promises I made to you. Remember? I made you a promise. A promise I knew I would keep; to keep you close to my heart, all the time. I promised to tell you everything that happens to me and around me. I promised to call you as much as I can. I have done my best, you know.

It is cold and dry here. It makes me miss a whole lot of you. There aren’t so many beautiful parks and gardens here like the place where we met. But I still see you. You told me that it was not going to be long, no matter how long. I believed you.

I want to tell you about this one - keeping my promises; there are many girls here in school, as you know. They appear at every turn. It is not easy to say no, with the girls flipping and pestering all around you. But I have been faithful to my promises. It is a difficult task, I am at war. But I hope to win. It is another promise I made, to myself – to keep myself firm and dry as the day I met you; that no water will drop off me till I meet you again. It is a tougher decision. See!

There are other friends around me. Good friends I like to say. Lillian, Patience, Kenneth… I used to tell you about them. They have been good. They have helped me love you more. The sad news is some of them would graduate when the semester ends. I miss them already. Lilian told me that love is patient when I told them how I miss you; she told me that love means loving the imperfect person perfectly when I complained about the calls you did not return. But there is a question I want to ask you before I go: do you still love me?

 Waiting to hear from you, soon.

Truly yours

Donald

No reply ever came. Where did I go wrong? “Those who truly loved never lose everything,” my father told me once. But Osa seem to have gone with everything. “Life must go on” was the most courageous thing I said. But just how far without Osarome?