Don’t take this letter the wrong way. I finally got around to reading your story about us. Loved the title…A sunset bore a rather illicit bond (don’t get ahead of yourself yet. There is a lot I was not smiling at as I read your article). I am not going to bash everything you said but rather I will try to set straight some of the issues you raised.
You at least remembered what I was wearing on that first day (Aawww, but that does not atone for the growing list of events you keep forgetting. I am not keeping score just that we women tend not to forget these things). Sorry about the handshake. But I thought you knew. General knowledge. Where do you live kwani?
What I thought about you that day? You ask. That question will have to go unanswered. A girl has got to have her secrets. (Plus, I don’t kiss and tell. Don’t get any sinister ideas now).
Time seemed to have surely stopped that first night. You did make me get home quite late that day (bad influence, told you this letter will not be all rosy). And those thoughts of yours. You had better tame them and do it fast. Otherwise we are going to have a problem.
You are crazy. You know that. How many times do I have to repeat that? Repetition is poetic. I am no poet but I’ll say it again. You are crazy. Did you have to bring up the elephant in the room? Don’t even try and feign ignorance on this one. You know the religion thing.
Seriously? I keep telling you constantly it never ends well. It is such a touchy subject. You think everyone will understand? Most will not understand. They will go for our throats and blood will be the only thing they will be after. What about love? You ask. They will not give a hoot if we take it and stick it up where the sun doesn’t shine. (Why start a fire you cant put out? Please don’t I beg of you).
That ending of your story sounds nothing like me. Did you come up with that? Or who did you hold that conversation with? (Kudos, if it the first one). But you know what? I kind of agree with you. There is surely a bridge for us to cross. And currently there is no bridge that has been built. Each one of us is standing on either (you are supposed to come towards me. You are the man here. Or we will meet halfway? I am yet to decide). Let us see if a madman can come up with a solution? (That is not an abuse just putting a title to my earlier reference of you).
I know you will be tempted to respond to this letter. Please don’t. Not even by writing another story or a poem (though would be fun to see you try the latter). Don’t stir the pot. Love.