The One with Ori
Your hair smells like familiar and unfamiliar things all at once. Shea butter and a little bit of that scent that smells like money.
The smell of your hair reminds me that there is “you and I” and “me and you,” everywhere, all at once.
It reminds of streets within the University that I have trodden and you haven’t. It reminds me of the songs that I danced to alone on those walks, and now with you. It reminds me that the canopy of the trees are cool enough to leave out the umbrella and feel the sun on our faces.
It reminds me that you no longer “loom” over me, yet my head sits directly in the middle of your chest, when you pull me in for a hug. I smell your hair on your shirts too, everywhere, all at once. When I perceive the whiff of how your hair smells, I remember that you hate to read, yet we text into the night. It reminds me that comfort can be quick and I am absorbed in it. It reminds me of the ridged eyebrows that shroud kind eyes, and a face that I would look at all day.
Your hair smells like familiar and unfamiliar things all at once. You allow me to be. I love to laugh and you love to laugh too, it sounds like something Asa could have written. If I were in a romance novel, I would write that I have fallen in love with you. But I have not. I am reminded of that everytime your hands close around my face, or you hold up my little palms to yours. I am reminded that during P.E, we were told that if you run slower, you would run longer. Yet you kiss me and I lose touch with reality. When my friends tell me that I am jumping too high and too quickly, I remember that you told me something similar and it fell face- flat on the court. I am reminded that 14 days in is not okay to declare myself in love, because on day 41 I might discover that you snore at night and you may find that I sometimes drool. Would the feelings of day 14 hold up against these odds?
Your hair smells like familiar and unfamiliar things all at once. I remember saying I could not be enough for you, yet I hold on to you like my life depends on it. I want to have all of you, and then you call me special. It is day 14 and we walked ten thousand steps. 60% and I am still scared. You have probably fallen asleep, but I am here listening to snippets of Moses Bliss talking about having a relationship with God and I think about how vulnerable we have become with ourselves and how I am feeling new emotions.
Your hair smells like unfamiliar things, will I allow myself enough grace to be moulded into the patterns of your life?
Your hair smells like familiar things. The total number of words here is 519.
Mmokut works as a journalist for the University of Ibadan's journalism team. She's a Content and Creative Writer.
Other posts by Mmokut: If insecurities were houses men built, 2:56am and Disjoint Thoughts, Our letters were goofy.
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