The end of us.

I remember the night you danced for me. Pivoting your body on those magnificent toes. Dainty body. I could wrap my arms around your waist several times. Remember, it was the night you came for me. Your dejected friend. Sullen face. Face with no path for soothing tears. I even felt sorry for my worn out eyes. “Beautiful brown eyes,” you said several times. Maybe my mirror lied to me. Not really. You were always kind to me. Only God knows why you saw me differently.

Each time I close my eyes, I still see your smile. Beautiful face to console me. Well, you caressed those brown eyes with your poise. I admit, with your bums too. Beautiful set. God makes beautiful things in pairs. Whose face could refuse a smile looking at you? None, of course.

Captivated, I sat on the floor where you conveniently fell on me. A fallen ballerina? “A coryphée,” you corrected me. “I’ll dance for you tonight. For you my best friend.” We were. That’s why I still wonder how your face found mine? Proximal. Whose fault was it? How did we forget what we were? Erotic kisses are for lovers only. Awkward ones are for close friends breaking the rules. We broke all the rules that night. Amatory relationship. It broke us apart. Even our angels deserted us. We had quite a few. I had no other choice. I packed up and ran away. The end of us. —— Fidelis O Mkparu (May 1979)


A musing I found in an old box from 1979. My style of writing apparently have not changed much over the years.











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