Ixora

I remember the day I met you. There was an ixora in your hair... Your caramel skin seemed to glow under the sun like glazed pottery. And I was amazed. And I struggled to keep my gaping to yourself. Didn't wish to alarm you. Didn't want you noticing that I existed at all because it's so much easier to admire a person when they're unaware.

You chew your pencil when you're thinking, you know. Its a habit of yours. I find it endearing but also ridiculous. We're in university and meant to be "adults" by now, yet you keep a pencil next to the pen you write with so you don't damage the glass when you're in need of your thinking tool. I wonder if the pieces stain your teeth? How it tastes on your tongue... It must swirl and swirl with all the bitterness of wood and lead...

Oh, to be a pencil. To lose my head between the curve of your lips, lost the swirl of your tongue, bathed in your slick like an unholy baptism...

Excuse me. Excuse that. Ignore it.

And I remember the day you first smiled at me. How I marvelled in it, threatened by all your majesty. How I couldn't meet your eyes as you asked for my number. Later on, you told me you'd noticed me. And of all the guys who couldn't stop looking at you, it was me, the girl that couldn't rip their silly eyes away that you found worthy of your curiosity.

I don't know why you stayed as long as you did. I'll never understand it, Amina. I never did deserve you - even now, after everything that happened, I still think you the most precious gold in the world. But gold has little meaning without the gaze that its glow excites. Maybe that was the reason things crumbled.

I forgot that you could shine with or without me.

It was too easy for you. That day? At your wedding? Watching you take the hands of that man I had never met and kiss him the way you once did me... I still feel your lips on mine, Amina. Fresh, brightly coloured ixora in a world of dull cocoa pods. I still drift to the thought of what you and I could have been.

But here we are. A man between us like we always feared. You would rather have children and security than be with me, I suppose. Than be yourself. Truth be told, I wish I could but I still cannot understand... I would have chosen you in every reality. Risked my safety after hiding myself away for all these years in a country like ours to let myself love a woman. Love you.

Maybe it's my fault. I should have known from the moment those ixora petals brushed against my mouth, curious and gentle and desperate like an act of worship, that it would not last.

But yours was an altar I would still bow the knee at. A devotion that no being on earth could ever understand - it was sick and toxic and too dependent and too unhealthy - and a piece of my soul will long for you forever.

You have many children now, this I know. Every photo you take is all fake smiles and glazed eyes. Your ixora are still just as red. And yet they are paler and drier than I've ever seen.

You're miserable. Perhaps I could have noticed. Saved you. Forced you to see that it would only bring you sorrow. But I did not know. How could I? I only had enough space in my heart then to love you - I cared too little for myself to truly believe I was a better option. I wonder if you cry as often as you once did, in the dark, with me. I wonder if your soul is in even more hidden pieces. Pieces you and I once shared in the dead of the night, clinging to each other's warmth like thirsty mosquitos.

You were my succor. But perhaps we both abandoned each other. I read your letter. I'm sorry but it was found by your maid before your husband came home and posted to the world. They know about us, now. Your husband knows how you dreamt of me every time he touched you. He is livid, as you'd expect, not that his emotions or existence matter to me at all.

I know now that you loved me. Loved me still. Despite how easy it should have been not to - how easy I thought you must have found it. Do you remember that day? The day you left? I have so many memories of you, Amina. So much love and regret and anger and adoration and pain and nowhere to put it, anymore. At least, when you were still here, these emotions had a home. They are listless, now. I suppose I always have been.

I'm still holding onto hope that you simply faked your death to get away from that madman. I'm still hoping you'll find me some day and tell me how long you've searched, take me back to your place and show me how much you missed me all these years. I was there. Always there. You could have told me. I did not know.

I'm sorry. I shouldn't cry. It would upset you, my gold, I know that well. I'm leaving the country. Our story is a bit famous, now... I suppose people are surprised that older gays exist in this country. That it is not simply a crazy by the younger generation of Nigerians, brought on by white people and the internet. History and fear washed us all away. But to be a cocoa bean or a fiery ixora?

I've been too dull a shade for too long. It's time for another path. The people here will not leave me alone, Amina. So I am going far away. This letter is the last you will see of me. The last thing I will do before I hurry myself over to the plane is bury it close to your gravestone, to live with you forever. Some part of me, the devotee, wishes to join you where you've gone. But I know better. And I plan to live the rest of my life remembering you as you were. Because it seems no one else knew you as well as I always have.

Rest, o? Obi m. Ifunanya m. Omalicha! I left you a tiny bouquet of your favourite, little red flowers. It was all I could do and that will always be my biggest regret. I read about how hard you tried to forget about me. How you forced the thought of me away like I was a plague, desperate to be good enough to be acceptable to the world and to your religion.

No more of that. It's over. Rest. Sleep. Dream of me. Perhaps this was what would always have been. Forever awaiting each other. What a sad way to live. What a sad way to die.

If nothing else came to mind in those painful last moments, I hope your mind flashed to me. To a soul that has always been yours. I hope you remembered that you are loved.