It had been 15 days and Dele stench from the loss of inspiration. He was finding it hard writing a word, and the publishing house needed a manuscript to publish; Dele had to play his part in the capitalism. Dele hid himself in his multi thousand-naira apartment in Ikoyi, that had all the needed for a man to write

This particular day, he knocked on my door, his eyes were soggy and bleeding with sadness. His right hand was holding a bag loaded with clothes. I stood by the door, and saw this man so miserable that it made me wanting more of him.

“All day I just seat and try make something, but I can’t, there is this part of me that is not here”

“But you are here”

I opened the door wide for him while I stepped back into my house. A smile is drawn on his face. I took the bag from his hand, he slowly entered into the house.

“Have you eaten?”

“Not really”

“I would make some toast”

There he was just looking lost like he always is; he would turn his head to the other direction, thinking of a lot of things that I find weird when I listen to him speak.

“Come on, I am your girlfriend, not even a kiss on my forehead” I turned to him with my eyes dripping with pity. Then he moved closer and held me firmly. He placed his hands on my waist and kissed me on my mouth. I dragged his hands on my buttocks, then he swirled it. I placed my fist lightly on chest and pushed him forward.

“Let me go get the toast”

“All right baby”

I tip toed to the kitchen. I was flooded with excitement. I would not lie, this is what I always wanted, to have a little fun time with my boyfriend. Dele would sit on his chair and for hours pressing on his laptop. He only calls me for sex, and sometimes he is afraid to say it out, he is a complicated man. We would lie on the bed for hours and dream of the stars, and reminisce on how beautiful it is, we only had each other and it was enough for me.

***

Some days earlier he kept on calling me on how troubled he has been.

He is a journalist, he got tired of the same routine as a mere reporter, he wanted something more that made him more of a writer. He quit his job and started ficiton writing, he got pretty good at it then he got a publisher for his works, as opposed to being a journalist, he could dictate the terms than working like a regular bureaucrat.

The day we met was blossom. The day was coming to a close and I chose to spend the night with my girls at a bar. He came to that bar that night, he was in search of inspiration. I saw him and how weird he was, he would glance at people from time to time, then he would raise his phone to his face and hit on his keypads as fast as he could.

He caught my stare that night, and for those few moments we were stuck. The only way out of this was if one of us had the audacity to approach. He carried his hand and waved, and forced a smirk. I said “Hi” as softly as I could and threw my palms halfway as long as my hands could stretch. Dele was still lost, tilting his head to another direction thinking as deep as he could for some seconds. He turned back his head to my direction and waved his hand to me. I shrugged. He had no option but to come, that is if he truly wanted to talk to me. He was this 6’1 man dressed with a polo T-shirts, pants, brogues shoes, and a smile.

“My name is Dele”

I chuckled, I was shy

“Dolapo you mind if I steal you for a moment”

“Steal her forever” Laide shouted, she could not hold control the alcohol she was taking. It was embarrassing for Dele, his face turned red and innocent as he tilted it shyly away.

Love making was spectacular, he had style, but I know it is from the frequent pornography he watched. His hands are cotton, soft and relaxing that would leave electricity lightening your every moment. He was always gentle and reminded me of how soft and tender a woman body must be treated. He starts with the foreplay, his lips crashing sweetly on every skin of my body, I swirl and moan on the bed, as its forces causes destruction on my body. The next phase is when he swirls his tongue around my clit, it feels so good, that I press his head deep into it. Then it is the thrusting, it is simply heaven.

Dele always stressed on how simple he is, but I know deep down on how complex he is. He wakes up at 4am, seated on the couch with his legs crossed, watching the news on NTA. He says it helps him think about the situation of things better.

I prepared toast and placed them on the dining table.

“Dele” I yelled. He came out with my towel wrapped around his waist, with his hair still holding water, his face was bright and stress free. “Baby, go and dry up, you are still wet”

He leaned forward to me and forced a swift kiss on my lips. He put his hands on my face and smiled for some few seconds, feelings of despair began to fade, I noticed it in his eyes. He walked out of sight.

Dele, he is the sweetest man I know, he is always reassuring. He’d hold me close to him, and just look at my face; he’d tell me that the answers he was always looking for was located in my eyes.

15 days I have been with this man. He helps with the dishes and some house chores. He told me it helped with his thinking. He cooked not so nice but manageable food every day, it was fun being with him. He’d hold me by the hand whenever we seat before the television.

***

This morning he told he has been harboring something, a vital message in him, he was swelling of it.  While we ate our breakfast, I fixated my gaze to his eyes. There was something he said about the eyes. It was a poem that tore straight to my heart and cut deep into it, creating me a new.

The eyes are the doors to your soul,

It tells me the most beautiful story of the galaxies.

The eyes are the windows to your soul,

Its as beautiful and innocent as the history of earth and the stars,

The clashing and the gliding of rocks that built life was a result of time.

I was still staring at his eyes, trying to see whatever message he was passing. His eyes were hostile. He wouldn’t reveal. Dele would just tilt his head and let out a smile to contain the situation. He was blurry, and a little bit uneasy.

Food dropped from his spoon.

“Fuck” he said silently.

The innocence that shielded him made him cute. He tried so much not to wear that garment of his condition, this broken man searching deep in his unconscious for the mood that is hiding in his wild mind.

He would talk to me in weird songs

“If I wasn’t in love with you, I would love to be a tree in a very deep forest, planted on the ground and receiving the beauty of nature for hundreds of years”. He just told me that while we watched football a particular day. I couldn’t stress that moment, I got into it with a weird man, and as it seemed he was giving me the peace of mind my heart yearned for. I finally was getting the affection that I needed. My family couldn’t provide for the emotional health I needed. I spent my primary school to till the end of uniben inside hostels, there was this feeling of abandonment that housed in me, and when Dele came, my only prayer was for it to last long enough; I would not lie, I really needed the affection.

***

I could not sleep a particular night, I had downed a couple of cups of caffeine to get through the day, I turned on my Tab and check on some funny YouTube videos to escape reality. Dele just folded himself on the bed, he wasn’t wearing a shirt, he was deep into it. He was exhausted, the snore steam that poured out of his mouth could not lie about it. I just laid my tab on the bed, removed my airpod and watched my man. I could inhale the fresh air the air conditioner sifted out slowly, and let it crumble out of my nose. My body chemistry could align with the world it’s had conflicts with, and just the weirdness of a man could bring that.

Dele Screamed, “Ah” for some couple of seconds. It shrieked me that I vibrated instinctively. He held on to my arm, he was shaking in an anxiety. His body was warm.

“It’s not coming, nothing is coming… I am just an empty, worthless man…”

“Dele, you are just going through a phase.” I replied him

He turned his head to my face “But you… are going to leave me.”

I just shook my head, tears hung on the base of my eyes, I had to contain it than allowing it stroll down my cheek. I stylishly use my hands flick the tears away from my eyes. Dele was a gift and also a curse. He was a loving man that every soul needed, but then again, he was strange; He would trek for 500 meters and come back puffing with sweat. He’d tell me that, he is trying to refine his soul. He’d go to a far street talking to area boys, there was a time his face was painted with bruises, he escaped a near death experience when a drunk area boy confronted him; he was so happy that day, he said he needed that experience to boost his confidence.

Dele began to shiver. He was suffering, I knew that the from the moment he knocked on my threshold.

“I don’t have any meaning of this life, baby” His eyes were gushing with uncertainty. “If I can’t make anything of myself, then what is the point of living in this world, this fucked up place, I am tired baby”

I took a hold of his head and wrapped my hands all over it. This man started flowing with tears, this was the first time I saw a man express his truest emotions to me. I was sobbing too, trust me. But I was happy, for one, this man was not scared to show me who he truly was on the inside, guilty and sensitive, calm and steady, and also, he was very understanding.

***

(Dele’s fighting feelings)

They say emotions are strong, and you must control it, so that the surge ,the waves won’t come crashing out on you, wiping everything you once called your existence, then you become a slave to emotions, to your feelings; my art.

I am Dele, I am weird beyond measures. There was a time I was purged from all muse I owned; so I let the night be my day, and my night be my night. I moved not an inch from my apartment for a month, I had to find my muse; the elixir that is needed for me to see carve life the way I always wanted.

I tried littering my heart on white paper, blood was not gushing enough, even while part of me was deeply hurting.

This particular day, my girlfriend had to be there for her friend in a birthday party. I just did not want to come, for a particular reason; discomfort. I folded myself on the bed. My phone was placed on the cupboard, far beyond my reach. I had to land my thoughts on a foreign space, let me lay my worries on the day that I met my muse.

The first time I met my muse, I could remember; My parents planted me in a boarding school when I was in primary four.

This was what happened

Sometimes when everywhere is dark, and every human had gone in for shelter, I would stride through the window, that had a torn net. Then I would run through the hole and there I would be, inside this noir night with this innocent figure in form of a girl my age. Whenever she smiled, her teeth painted a section of the night white.

She would hold my hands and seat me on the rock. She would point to the stars, where she would read me the stories she had carved from the galaxies.

There was a night I wanted more from her, so I took a big note book with me, with a pen. I was uneasy as I raised my pen.

“What are you doing” My muse looked into my eyes with a smile to lessen the already awkward moment.

“I don’t want to forget whatever stories you tell me. In case you are not around to read the me the stories, I can always read the stories and remember your face”

She held on to my arm and. Hugged it, then she rested a part of his face on it.

“I am always a part of you… Wherever you go… Wherever you are…”

She held on to my head and began stroking it, allowing those soft hands with tender emotions stride through my scalp.

***

(When there is no meaning to life):

She was not around, she had to see her parents. Dele had to know she is never a competition. There was no need to be selfish about the whole scenario. He was hurting deep inside, but that doesn’t mean he should be selfish with another person’s time, someone that he wholly claims to love.

That night Dele was deeply bleeding with sadness. His phone was on his chest, his vision was on the white ceiling. Dele thought of his emptiness, and how blank his life is. He thought of killing himself, but that would be too much for his girl to bear, he scratched it off his mind.

He had another idea in his mind, beers and cigarettes. He promised his girl he had stopped, he promised himself too. But he could just stop only when she was around to heal those parts of him that was hurting. If she couldn’t be there, he had to result to the old therapy, booze and cigarettes.

***

Dele laid under the shower and waited while waters splashed and poured on his skin. Traumatic thoughts splashed his mind; the emptiness that he felt while growing up, the feeling of his muse abandoning him forever.

“It is burning me up, it is burning me up. Dele take it easy. Dele be calm” he mumbled to himself.

The room was as cold as antartica, the Air conditioner was controlling the weather in the room. Dele didn’t bother to take a towel. He bumped out of the bathroom; his naked body still dripped of water. His nostrils were blocked, he had to breathe through his mouth, he didn’t care about the whole situation, what was hurting was stronger than the cold he was feeling.

He slowly walked to the bed, like a zombie, with nothing, no intention, no purpose, he just felt a blank shelf, an empty space inside of him. He crashed his head with his face down.

Then…

Sobbing… This man lay on the bed, allowing the room feel a little of his pain, he was crying gently and calmly. The bedsheet soaked his sorrows and tears.

He stood up from the bed, used his palms to wipe off his tears. Dele strolled to his wardrobe and picked out his ironed black T-shirt, his trousers and those nice Italian shoes that his girl bought for him. In his own mind, no matter the adversity a man is going through, he must still own his style.

***

Dele ordered for a bottle of Beer and a pack of cigarettes, the therapy session had resumed for him and he had to be ready for what was coming. He stood up drunk, picked up a bottle of bear and flung it on the wall.

There was a deep sense of confusion from everyone inside that bar.

“You all don’t know how it feels like… to be nothing, because you all in this pathetic bar are nothing, that is why they sell you fucked up meat and washed-up beers”. He took the last cup and gulp of his beer. He moved disorderly. All eyes were on him, people moved their attention from the champions league that was going and were focusing on a man that seemed to them, foolish. Maybe he caught his wife cheating, or maybe he gambled his money in a ponzi scheme or maybe he’s angry at a friend or something, but that was different, he was just a man that has lost his muse, his meaning to life.

He glanced at his cup; he stretched a smirk on his face. Then, he flung the cup to the wall. Two men came forward to him, they were muscular, twins, the owner of the bar that Dele is Defiling.

They walk closer to him, one of the twins held Dele by the arm. Dele brushed this off and landed a slap on his face. They became angry, dragged him off his feet and pushed him to the ground. There was a surge of pain that came to Dele’s way; brooms, sticks, fists and wires landed on his body. Dele laid on the ground like an innocent dog infected with disease on the streets. They dragged him and threw him to the gutter.

***

 Untitled Me: Feeling child

The love I feel for this boy is immense. In all the journey that I have been through, my feelings have played a huge part. People have broken up when love was not just enough, but when it was never enough, I and Dele still nurtured our dreams on that fertile soil. When the differences were too much, there’s always a separation, a retraction that forbids something coming together.

I was just coming from my friend’s birthday party and I was driving through the night till I could get home. On my mind, “Dele” could not stop popping through my head. Dele, a full-grown man filled my thoughts with hopes he has not done anything childish, or stupid.

I glanced at the other side of the road, and I saw Dele sleeping next to the gutters, I knew it was him the moment, I could just feel it. My worst night mare has come to past. I folded myself to feel a little warmth, I placed my hands on the steering wheels and thought about the good life.

I once read a poetry by Voodoo, an extension of David Tells, it has it songs planted in my mind, whenever I want to organize my mind, I grasp its story. It goes like this;

It can’t be this difficult,

This passage seems like a cult,

When it becomes endless and hoping on a false story.

If you keep on running to somewhere you are not familiar,

There might be a passage through time,

You’d evolve to see fit the flourishing of your life.

The end.