She only comes when she wants to. She does what she wants to. My fiery-eyed beauty.
She never moved, she glided. She never smiled, she glowed. She never talked, she sang. She never giggled, she laughed. There was nothing basic about her. She was perfect.
What more can I say?
She was unpredictable. Spontaneous. Unprecedented. So full of life. So precious. So fragile and yet so gutsy.
But she only comes when she wants to. She is stubborn in that way, too.
The first time I saw her, the love of my life, she was without a care in the world.
In a world of denim, she was plaid. In a world of jeans, she was sweatpants. In a world of crop-tops and half-shirts, she was a tunic. In a world of darkness, she was light. In a world of hate, she was love. In a world of separation, she was togetherness. In a world falling apart, she was glue. In an asylum, she was sanity. In a cold world, she was warmth. In a dying world, she was life.
And she just sat there, and shone.
In the time I knew her, she shone for everyone; the old, the young; the rich, the poor; the big, the small. Everyone. And I’d say ‘Yar, rest.’
But she never did. She held the world together, my little butterfly.
By Zainab Onuh
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