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Writer's pictureOtema Y

Ten

He stood

Then he sat

He stood up again

He walked a few steps ahead

Then retreated

Ending up where he was standing before

He ignored the bench and sat on the ground

The grass was wet

It had just rained

He thought of how he had run under the rain

Almost slipping on the wet ground

The umbrella of no use, as it moved in the opposite direction

He struggled to hold it over his head

But that didn’t bother him much

He was already soaking wet

His last money drenched in his shirt pocket

She had asked for money again

She has cried and cried when he said he was living on his last

But he loved her, so he bled when she cried

And he took out the last of his money

She told him to meet him at the usual place

But it was well past 4

She still hadn’t arrived

The rains had calmed

The thunders still roared out her name

But she still never came

He sat in the hope that she’d come

Despite whatever held her up

It was his fault

He had delayed after she said she needed the money urgently

It was his fault that he had disappointed the love of his life again

He longed in his heart that she would come

He sat and waited

He shut his eyes

A tear dropped forcibly after another

There was a gentle tap on his shoulder

Eyes looked down at him, glinting in the sunlight.

Almost blinding, he managed to look back.

It wasn’t her.

(Photograph by Joel Boahen  @officialkwabbx)

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