My father’s house is a fortress of live coals that burn what is left of me. So on most evenings, I forget my body on the low veranda in front of the house and live alone.
I’ve been sitting on this veranda every evening for two years, disappearing into my silence whenever the world becomes too alive. I’d sit and wait for the sun’s glow to bathe me with orange streaks and make me beautiful again.
I lost my beauty along with my womb in the hospital two years before. I was in love with Terdoo so much that I forgot that the shape of our heartbeat was different and that forever was impossible because he would probably die before I did.
I was so in love that I lost count of the number of times that he told me to unclasp my legs. I only started counting when he told me to unclasp them on a hospital bed in front of an unconcerned doctor learned in monotony. He stroked my hair then, his misty eyes telling me things that his lips could not. He said that his manhood was not strong enough to water the seed that he had planted in me. I opened my legs that day and he walked out of my life, leaving me with a void in my womb and the ashes of love to fill in it. After he left, I uncarved his face from my heart’s canvass and have been learning how not to remember it.
All I now know is that I want to disappear into the ugliness of my neighbourhood, and that, my father’s eyes are pools of hatred that drown me daily.
Torkwase Igbana: I’m a 22 year old lover of good books and chocolates. I’m enthralled by words which I believe are the most important pathway to finding order in the chaos of the world.