There is so much history in the way he looks at me ,
Some sort of memory dancing in his mind reflected on how his eyes brighten up at his stare .
We met at a party by the beach. I had never been to the beach .
He asked me if I had ever been on a boat ,
And I told him about that one time when I was 4 and we had just moved to Nairobi from Trans Nzoia .
I saw a boat ,
somewhere in the city .
So he took me on a boat ride and I got sea sick .
It impressed him that a woman so tough looking could be so fragile.
It shamed me ,
To think that water had this mighty effect on me .
But there i learn that storms calm at the voice of their master ,
And he was just another servant sent to teach me how to tame my dragon.
But what is his is mine ,
Memories of silent towns hidden behind busy cities ,
Filled with noise and motion.
What is his is mine ,
Silent prayers dropped on quick visits to churches standing at the awkward corner of none believing towns .
Whispers to God in gratitude ,
Dreams unfolding into reality ,
Prayers answered .
And me ,
What is mine ,
Is it really his ?
I doubt that I have given him the parts of me that a sent angel like him deserves ,
Poetry notes tucked beneath my clothes in travel suitcases ,
Love letters drafted while he is out shaving his hair or finding money to spend on plane tickets.
What is mine ,
Is it really his ?
Love songs hummed in showers ,
Language learnt on trips ,
Cravings at midnight .
I was taught to never give parts of me ,
So even when he comes to me ,
With bloodstains on his hands having fought for me,
I need him to go to yet another war
Because really ,
Is what is his mine ?
When after all this time ,
He has a picture of her ,
Folded and hidden in his worn out wallet ,
The one she bought him.

We are here for the convenience ,
No one wants to be lonely through long flights and foreign faces,
New streets and awkward phases.
We are all looking for connection and belonging ,
And when we can’t find the depth of love through all the landings ,
We will share memories and laughter ,
But what is his is his
What is mine is mine .
To each his own and all we share are meals and trips we had no courage to take alone.

2 thoughts to “His and Mine 

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