The heartbreak

= 1183

THE HEARTBREAK THAT LASTED A WEEK

Talk of love affairs and we are glad to listen and quest for more. Talk of heartbreaks and someone else somewhere is happy that you are now single and they can have a shot pinned on your ass. And that is how the story goes. It is either you are running from love or resiliently hunting it bountifully.

Love still remains the centermost thing for every individual. If you are not mourning for being walked out on, then you are probably figuring out how to get someone’s ass into your crib. Love is like fornication. It can never save you from all your troubles no matter how sweet it maybe, as it doesn’t endure time, it dies somewhere when things suddenly become real.

So this week has been hectic for me, on this path of love which I happen to have swung all my favours to. I am no man to write of my private affairs on any blog whatsoever, because it’s a love story, but when I woke up this morning something told me that the end has to be in writing, it is the only way to emancipation.

So pardon me if the story seems to be too personal. When you are writer, sometimes you write real things that are fake and fake things that appear to be so real. It is the world me and many other writers live in. That we can craft a story so real that you believe in it even we know it is too good to be true. We care not; however, your job is usually to find the heart that renders your face with a powerful smile after perusing through the words.

Every love story has a good beginning and a very bitter end. It involves toothless begging, constant ‘I’m sorry’, excuses, apologies, and fighting. The beginning is always sweet, the middle a plateau of mixed feelings and an end that escalates to the bottom in lightning speed.

I am here solely to tell of some love story. Do not bother to ask me of my previous love stories that have not been documented here yet. Many of them had sweet endings. When you are left is better than when you leave, because when you are left you know for sure it is over. And when you tend to be the one that leaves, you are in doubts if you really want this. It is hard because you haven’t made the decision that may be subtle at the end.

The biggest fear is regret. It is easier to leave when you haven’t spotted someone else. If you leave because you have started seeing someone else, it is a mistake. Why? If you don’t finish the business in your previous relationship before you move out, the feelings will haunt you later. That is a baggage of regret because you met someone else while seeing someone else and didn’t have time to know them quite well. They seemed the best to solve your immediate misery, so you dove in to just settle the mess first, in the hope getting to be in love. And you know what happens.

I don’t keep a record of how long I have been with someone. I suffer from this anterograde amnesia thing that makes me forget even the most basic stuff, like names of people, drinks (but not whiskey), msamiati, names of places, dates, and even my last name. But our love has endured a period of 6 months plus.

And there is one thing that I have never understood in this entire love thing, why in all that period I never thought of getting into her pants and enjoy the cookie for even a moment. It is rather absurd that we never even shared a kiss.

This is like a face book love fairy tale. Where people meet on Facebook, chat, fall in love, and break up without even setting eyes on the real each other. And ours was a real fairy. We have met on a number of occasions, had stimulating hugs, smothering laughs, nice talks, ate together in some restaurants in town and had some fancy time.

We talked of business, of a future, but forgot talking about our love, how we needed to nurture and tend it. We were immersed in so much mess that we forgot to treasure a few things that make love important. We failed to acknowledge each other, and rather appreciated what we call desires of a stingy heart.

I have this silly thing in my life of looking people in the eye and seeing their inner eyes, their heart and some of their thinking. I mean you can rarely do that with me. I am always calm and not suggesting anything, except when I laugh literally or hint that I am down with stress. Apart from that you can never tell what kind of thoughts I have or what kind of guy I am. The world can topple on top of me and you still will never know unless I tell you.

But her! I could see everything by the look of her eyes, nice smile and her actions that suggested, it will end sometime later on. The tag love didn’t really seem to be the common vocabulary in her actions and talks. It hardly came by in a means that I could translate so genuinely. I wasn’t tired of loving because when I do I have to move on.

Apart from my stubborn followership of my stubborn decisions, I know when things are likely to go wrong. It has nothing to do with the sixth sense or something like wit, wisdom does it. I am a realist with adequate phenomenonical inner eyes.

Earlier this week I decided I might not be able to stay in that little dungeon till death picks my bones up. I somehow decided to call it quits. I stood in a highway where I wanted to imagine that it was over. Judging on the basis of the breakup, failure of effective communication tops the list. Effective communication, the very thing that I learnt in varsity for the first whole two years.

I looked in the eyes of her picture, I didn’t see any remorse. She looked like not to have been troubled by the winds of my news of moving out. Her life seemed to be running perfectly while my eyes were darting from one corner to another making a decision whether to move on or just sit there and wait the winds of hell to carry me way.

I have never been in such a dry relationship in my life. Man it was so dry that only my blood could smoothen her surface against mine. It was devoid of enough emotions, devoid of lovey dovies, devoid of constant checkups, constant of love messages that showed deep concern, and most importantly lacked the magnitude of true love. Seemed like we had things we held back because we feared the unknown.

Where else can we categorize such an affair? Even the birds fly together, chirp and enjoy a health sex. It was the longest relationship but so controversial. I can’t say it sucked. I can say it drained my emotions. It made me the one to care, the one to show concern and the one to keep every little flower irrigated.

They may say men don’t write their love stories and break ups. I agree. But I have a heart, fragile and breakable. My work as a writer beats that kind of thinking, whether the story is credible or just plastic. When I write stuff, it signifies the end of an era. Chances for me to evacuate my heart of every little shit left, and open up to the new world before me.

Look here, I don’t know how she feels about this. I might as well care not. I am not doing this on purpose because I could have told it to her personally as well, but the power of writing doesn’t have limits. It is wild, switching from one end of the green and leafy forests to jungles and mountain tops.

I don’t feel bored. I am mad. I am mad because I am mad at myself. Sometimes you close the door for so many wonderful opportunities only to realize that you were really silly. The things people do for love are crazy.

So I wrote her a break up text. It read of so many things, and like a lion she answered back, ok. In another instance she wrote me, I wish you knew.

I wondered what that thing that I didn’t know is. As always they won’t tell you. They will keep silent and behave like they are not guilty of anything. But how are you supposed to know anything if they can’t tell you? By doing that they think they are saving their heart/ relationship but they are actually pushing us away.

I have decided to move on. Is there any official procedure to break up by the way? Like buying a bouquet of roses, calling her to a nice park, showing up with a smile and those roses behind your back, presenting them to her, and in a confident baritone

‘Baby I’m sorry. I am breaking up with you. I love you.’

And then leave. Is that it? Yeah, maybe. There are those men who can do that. But with me I can’t stand that. I won’t stand her ugly face then. Her anger and the curses hurled at my ugly ass.

It was such short; I girl I loved, hugged but never kissed or had sex with. I am even confused, how did that happen for more than a year (inkatiga ebinto ebigima bamura yaa)? Am I normal?

I am on the way to my specialist right now. I need to run a few tests.

A week is almost over and by Monday I will be on the streets hunting like a dirty pirate

Proposals zikam, lol.

But me and you baby will always be unfinished business. We will beat about the bush always, but still run into each other’s arms.

Use Facebook to Comment on this Post

Related Posts:

  • No Related Posts

About Mzangila

Mentor, media consultant, photographer, editor, poet, writer, and counselor.

Check Also

The tie that binds

Post Views = 25025 I’m beginning to see the wisdom in keeping an ocean between …

The writer’s curse

Post Views = 36981 Man was born to live either in the convulsions of misery, …

2 comments

  1. u never fail me am proud of you

Leave a Reply to japen Cancel reply

Connect with:




Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *