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WHY I STARTED

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I write poems, articles short stories and series.

I want to reach out to all the voiceless throngs in the world and let their voice be heard. Get deep inside your hearts and bring out the true emotions that lie within you.

In here, you will meet different people and different scenarios every Thursday. If it intrigues you so much, like, comment and share the links. But first, FOLLOW the account. Drag your friends along.

Lets get going.
©Rashid Hunt 2017

IN MY DREAMS.

Dear Rashid Hunt,

I would not be writing this letter if you stepped up and came for it the last time we met. I hope you are faring on well on the other end of the country. As for my case, life has not been easy without hearing your bass voice and your loud childish laughter. Still, the wheel of time keeps on moving and the pain of sleeping without having a glance at you remains unremitting, inexplicable and entirely unfathomable.

It may be profoundly weird for you to receive such a script from such a person but then the tranquility, serenity and brevity that I saw in your eyes sentenced me to a life of yearning. Paulo Coelho says that the eyes are the mirror of the soul. They show the strength of the soul. I know it was night and the whispering sea winds in conjunction with the moon, filtering through the palm trees in the sea shore were the only witnesses as I beheld the man of my dreams. It was so outrageous and creepy that you did not read between the lines considering that you are a poet with the fourth eye but then, the best things in life are unseen. Or maybe you were deliberately missing the point, as for a guy who is extremely intelligent as you are, it is easier to decode the painting on the wall. You are my Langdon.

Let’s take a trip down memory. Do you remember the day we ate coconuts on the shore and the weather was so cold that I had to lend you my hoodie even though you insisted that you were okay? That is the day these feelings were conceived. It was about a year ago right? But guess what, you can’t stop a tide with a broom.

There’s this morbid fancy that is born of long hours spent not talking to you. I will photograph you every time we meet. I will photograph you in this life, in case it is the last time that we might be exactly ho we were before we realized there’s another life. I will photograph you because photos are a return ticket to a moment otherwise forgone.

If all this is wrong, I don’t want to be right Rashid. I know feelings always ruin relationships but there is something about your eyes. Your eyes pulled me like a black hole. I will have to adjust my speed to be faster than the speed of light so that I may pass through the black hole without being disintegrated. I know the risks are getting higher and the chance of success are getting poorer but my eyes are on the price. And, if it doesn’t work out, I will pay the price of burning the candle at both ends.

Haven’t you noticed that I mention your name like it’s a declaration of love? I have been falling deep into the dark abyss of your being. I didn’t like the falling. Falling already is a negative concept and I am certainly an optimist. I still failed to counter it. do not hold me as I fall because I want to inexorably fall for you until the end of time. I know you are deeper that what I think.

We may not be on the same boat but we are certainly on the same ocean. Go fetch your demons and beasts because every beauty needs a beast.

With love,

Abby.

©Rashid Hunt 2019

UNDUGU MENTORSHIP INITIATIVE 02

Joining Undugu Mentorship Initiative was more of calling to me. I had seen it on Facebook and all the mentorship activities that they did. I resisted the urge to join while still in campus. Once I was done with my studies in April, I knew I would have to join. On 20th May 2013, I walked into the Undugu Mentorship Initiative office and after enquiries of how to join and I got registered. That evening, I went for my first session at Mbaraki Girls. I didn’t speak much that day but by the third session, I was already imparting lives. I could do the sessions but I felt I needed to do much more. Come 2014, I went back to school and I became busy and unavailable for the mentorship sessions as I was doing part time studies.

My turn around came in May 2015 when I was among the mentors that went for the leadership and mentorship camp for top achievers in form 4 students of Taita Taveta County. The students were divided into groups and I had my group of 26 students from different schools. I mentored them and by the end of the four-day camp at Taita Taveta University I had bonded with them. I remember asking them the universities they wanted to go to and Yale, Harvard, Massachusetts Institute were some of the answers. These answers challenged me considering the fact that I only wanted to go to KU back when I was in high school. They wrote their names, grades they wanted to score in KCSE and their dream careers in a piece of paper and when we got back to Mombasa, I made sure I prayed for each and every one of them every day. Reminding God to remember them, to help them in their academics and for them to achieve their dreams. I met some of them in camp two in August and by then their names were like a song to me. I promised success cards to them and yes, I did send to all. I am happy they got to pass and go to university. I am a proud ‘mother’ to my mentees. I am happy for the lasting friendships I formed with them.

I have so far mentored more than 100 students who I am humbled that they do remember me and call to share their successes and challenges.

If I could choose to do something all my life, it would definitely be Mentorship. Every day any time.

God bless Undugu Mentorship for the opportunity to serve.

Written by Christine Mwamisha.

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Above is a testimony of one of the beneficiaries and mentors of Undugu Mentorship Initiative. In addition, Undugu Mentorship Initiative will be conducting a fundraising dinner on Saturday 8th December 2018. We will be celebrating 12 years of empowering and mentoring the society towards creating innovative and responsible individuals.

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The fundraising is geared towards getting funds to facilitate the operations of the Community Based Organization.

For more information visit www.undugumentorship.org

Or contact us at 0710498224

or email: info@undugumentorship.org

 

UNDUGU MENTORSHIP INITIATIVE 01

When Undugu Mentorship Initiative visited our church in 2012, I was asked to give a vote of thanks. In those few lines, Undugu Mentorship Initiative chairman, Hon Danson Mwashako Mwakuwona, saw something in me. He invited me to join the organization and together with other mentors they’ve molded me, given me a platform to express myself and guided me through my youth hood.

I have had opportunities to network with people from different walks of life. The opportunity to network has led me to explore my talents, nurture them and grow.

Having met mentors with different occupations, we formed a CBO where I sit at the board hence expanding my leadership skills.

I have Undugu Mentorship Initiative to thank because it has kept me accountable to the society. It has shaped my character and instilled in me the knowledge that I ought to be a good role model to the society.

A saying goes ‘in teaching you will learn.’ Attending various mentor ships programs has enabled me to gather academic skills that also helped me in my study.

Undugu has been a platform that has empowered me with both entrepreneurial and employability skills.

Written by Elizabeth Mbinga

IMG-20181202-WA0001

Above is a testimony of one of the beneficiaries and mentors of Undugu Mentorship Initiative. In addition, Undugu Mentorship Initiative will be conducting a fundraising dinner on Saturday 8th December 2018. We will be celebrating 12 years of empowering and mentoring the society towards creating innovative and responsible individuals.

IMG-20181202-WA0000

The fundraising is geared towards getting funds to facilitate the operations of the Community Based Organization.

For more information visit www.undugumentorship.org

Or contact us at 0710498224

or email: info@undugumentorship.org

THE FACE OF AN ASSASSIN.

George BBM 20170812_221934

What if we all woke up and found out that which is alien has become familiar and the familiar has been shrouded in mystery? The faces change with passing years; the heart remains constant.” These were the first words out of Tom’s mouth and he could hardly wait to say them. Even in the shadows of the park, the other men could feel his anxiety. The induction hit me hard of course. It was so pertinent that I even felt his zeal. My intuitions led me to feel a fearful premonition of doom in the air.

Samarra, in Colombia, was a street of so much life. Every organism with inclusion of trees in the driveways and parks, snakes on the trees and the concrete seats beneath the trees upon which we sat on, all sang in unison to celebrate life. On this day, the mood was mundane. The trees did not dance. The birds did not chirp. The mundane mood instilled some fear in me. It wasn’t the fear of a snake bite but the fear of something greater than what would kill me.

The street was silent. The colour of the day was outrageous. The sky was grey. Not even the ever-scorching sun was in its usual self. I felt so much heat but the heat was from another sun. The wind did not filter through the trees. I was sweating. “Mary is dead.” That came so strong like a hurricane and swung me round and sideways. Tom says I ran off, hit a tree and lost my consciousness which I doubted but the bruise on my head came out so openly with the assertion. I was stunned why Tom wasn’t crying but I overlooked into his eyes and saw that he was bleeding from the inside. Emotional haemorrhage has claimed more lives in this decade than any other.

Tom’s reaction lifted me to reality and my mood alternated from gut chilling fear to anger. I rose up and asked tom to lead me to where Mary lay. Our walk was very uneventful. The street in front was a pedestrian walkway, with planters and flowers and palms along its center, like a promenade. The place is usually crowded with people strolling but, on this day, there was no one to be found save for some rubble who thought it necessary to loiter on doom’s day or can we say ground-hog day. The afternoon shadows lengthened as we continued to keep up our pace. We hardly talked. Everyone dived deep into his thoughts.

Mary was Tom’s girlfriend who had been 11 weeks pregnant before she decided that she wasn’t going to keep the child. Maybe it didn’t matter to her since she didn’t want to ruin her modelling career, but it mattered a lot to Tom who in other words felt a loss of high IQ sperms. Mary had some prowess in modelling which made her the top model in Cuica University and currently the Miss Cuica University. Mary’s career was fast unfolding. She had a kind of quixotic zeal for her work. The world was awash in anonymous skulls scattered across continents by wars, pogroms, massacres, slaughters and murder. Somehow, she felt she had a genuine mission to turn the wasteland of trivialized death into individual moments of significance, face by face by face. It was a small thing in the grander scheme of things, she knew.

On the other hand, it was no small thing at all to give an identity, a history, and a kind of redemption to what had been only a lost and empty bone before she touched it. Her touch was as magical as it was divine. But, all that was no more.

“Ben, we are here.” It was Mary’s home. The culmination of my anger and frustration coupled up by my inability to imagine life without Mary let loose my eye lids. Tones of tears rolled down as I headed to see the remnants of the vague superstar, the spark who did not give herself a chance to burst into a flame.

Tom and I both played a part in refraining her from aborting the child. We played the reggae song by Nthsenge ‘Abortion is a crime’ on repeat and got her emotional movies and even wrote her articles about how bad we needed her and the child and how the world’s women fertility rate had reduced by half its usual rate. Actually, according to the Kenyan Business daily of Monday 12th November 2018, “there has been a remarkable global decline in the number of children women are having… And there would be profound consequences for societies with ‘more grandparents than grandchildren’… In 1950, women were having an average of 4.7 children in their lifetime. The fertility rate all but halved to 2.4 children per woman by last year… The fall in fertility rate is not down to sperm counts or any of the things that normally come to mind when thinking of fertility. Instead it is being put down to three key factors: Fewer deaths in childhood meaning women have fewer babies, greater access to contraception, and more women in education and work.” Regardless of being exposed to all of these, she remained unshakable. I had to soak in the words of Esther Ingolo that “we were born looking like our parents but we will die looking like our choices.”

I saw her face. The face of the assassin who had the intention of killing one but instead killed two. I saw her so vivid and suddenly my weeping stopped. I felt that it was poetic justice for her to lose herself in claiming to save her career. Her additional reasons were that she didn’t want to be seen carrying a child because the society would judge her. I realized the controlled pandemonium and I noticed all her family members were bitter about the situation since neither Mary’s mother nor her father knew about her pregnancy. Not even her best friend Edith knew about it. I also remembered that I was having a lecture on criminal law from 4 pm which was 20 minutes away.

Tom’s eyes were fixed. He had not set eyes on her since she made the decision three days ago. They had even broken up on that day and Tom came to me so hopeless. I actually did not think that she would do it. I tapped him on the back but his attitude had also changed. His attitude seemed to be, ‘thank you very much for pushing me off the cliff, but now that you have, I am going to be in charge of the falling. And the landing.’ I knew how important that moment was to him. This kind of stuff comes with an emotional price, especially between partners who have shared more than the secrets of state.

I walked out and took a taxi to Paseo de la Reforma, where I got into Polanco. I walked three blocks south of Polanco and six blocks west to Cuica University main gate. The Auditorium was packed. I got in class in time to get the lecture kicking off. I reflected on the impromptu meeting which painted the whole scenario on the wall,Abortion is a crime’. It took me a while to completely get soaked into my chair. I sat there like I had the entire day to sit. That was my best chance of reacquiring my normalcy.

Check out my other website at rashidhunt.writersnerve

©Rashid Hunt

ONE SHOT ONE KILL: CHAPTER SIX

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CHAPTER SIX: ANTS IN MY PANTS

Darkness, the true darkness is not the absence of light. It is the conviction that the light was there and it is no longer there. That the light has to come to fix all that is wrong. That the light always returns, to show us things that are familiar, cars, humans, beds. Things entirely new, Grim reaper, demons. It shows us new possibilities and challenges us to pursue them. This time, the light shone on my hero. Our darkness runs deep and seems to swallow. But these heroes are always here at all times, to remind us that hope is real, that you can see it. All you have to do is look.

With all the brain matter scattered on the faces of the security detail, the commotion built up. I checked out of the Royal Hotel only to meet Cassie again. I felt her eyes penetrate my skin as she took the .50 from me. Sometimes the only way to get into someone’s head is to hit them with a sledge-hammer. I felt the hitting pain. I felt the avalanche of feelings inside her and decided to ignore it. More important things were on bay. I didn’t entirely trust Cassie, it is so disquieting to put all your eggs in one tiny frail of a basket. On the other hand, every blessing ignored is a curse. I played with the odds presented. The Smith and Wesson .38 Special was still with me. I gave it out. The job was over. I got the next taxi on the parkway and left before anything got out of hand. The mission was a success, the escape was marvelous. The execution, lovely. I got to Top Tank Hotel only to get the saddening news on TV that the minister for education was no more.

I got to the room, took a very fast shower and checked out. The airport was on strict, agile and vigilant security. Although I kind of felt the ants in pants I made it out of the four security check ups very safe. Well, you can’t stop what you can’t see of course. It was almost satirical when the cabin crew personnel wished me a safe journey and said I was welcomed again in Mexico.

I was solemn and reflective throughout the flight back. I thought to myself that death makes people a lot more aware of their lives. It was even funnier that on the time of death, one would still struggle hard to keep his life. Do we really want to live forever? What is the fun of living forever. It’s so emotionally tiresome. Our human endurance can not last us a lifetime. The essence of life is that any minute, your breathing may be curtailed. Knowing that death is nigh. This is what gives life a meaning.

My flight back to Belfast was faster that I expected. More relaxing and satisfactory. To lead a satisfactory life is to live with fear being a part of you. Pumping a lot of fear into someone until they snap. Until the fear saturates the mind and you become numb to fear. We call that the point break. The point where your fear becomes the master. It not about going about it for personal gain. It’s about being part of another life. Are we ready for that? Well, the aspect of courage is not that your heart should not quack but nobody else should know it does. Nobody else.

It was all serene in Belfast, everything so normal. Just a normal Saturday. Night had already fallen and I walked in the streets like I owned them. That’s the feeling you get when you know you have nothing that may compromise your movement if in any case you got lifted. Talking about compromise, I got home only to find someone sited on the stairs landing. She was female. Her areola looked familiar. I walked closer. If death was near, I would know. She stood up as I approached. I noticed her eyes were blood-red. The redness was born of long hours spent crying. It was Roisin. She watched me come. The situation was very awkward but I kept my cool. She had a box of pizza with her.

“I don’t remember ordering any pizza today”, I spoke candidly. She didn’t speak.  I took a glance at her and went ahead to open the door. “Can I come in?” she spoke so softly that saying no would feel like breaking her even more.

It was some minutes past 8pm and I was hungry so I thought the pizza would come in handy. We got in and I got to my phone. The first text I got was about a credit transaction made on my account. I smiled. “That must be someone you love” Roisin commented. I was stunned. I hated the fact that I was so transparent to this human. I changed the perspective. “What’s up? You look fucked up.” “My dad has been killed. He has been assassinated today.” Roisin said. “Damn, that’s bad.” I said while comprehending how our killing industry was advancing. “How did it happen?” I added. “He was going to a press conference in Malinalco. It’s in Mexico.” Roisin said between sobs. My pupils dilated. I felt some bitter saliva go down my gut. I hugged her. Gave her the shoulder. It was the first time I ever felt sorry for anyone since I started reasoning. I felt her pain. I felt her weakness.

Check out my other website at rashidhunt.writersnerve.allansacuity

©Rashid Hunt 2018

ONE SHOT ONE KILL: CHAPTER FIVE

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CHAPTER FIVE: PERTURBATION

There is a very thin line between love, lust and infatuation. A few can distinguish the difference but most humans cannot. The concepts get even further blurry when there is some disposable pussies and influx of dicks. Pussy niggers get even more confused, especially when one can be absorbed into a clitoris for a whole night. Well, for a feminist, women rule the world but for a chauvinist, dicks are far more paramount. That’s the very reason why the population of women outshines that of men by more than a dozen times. It’s all God’s doing.

So many thoughts were still piling up while I was still comprehending the magnitude of the situation. The phone was still ringing. Then some bright light interrupted me. I raised my head. My gaze moved from the bed to the path that led to the bathroom. It was a glowing female body. It was blinding me. She was entirely naked. I was first amazed, then amused. All my reflexes were put on sudden halt. I was drawn to another world of fantasy. I got stuck in the exotic world. A world full of intense intimacy. I saw her kiss me. I felt her lips. My fantasy was curtailed by the lady coaking a gun. She had already concealed the heaven that I had seen. The phone was still ringing. My first words to her “nice trick.”

She looked down my torso, saw the bulge and gave a crooked smile. She switched the play. “Pick it up” she said, so candidly. She had a Smith and Wesson .38 special on my forehead.

“A blessing in disguise” I commented. “I won’t ask again Robert” now in a firmer voice.

Tequila was still calling. I picked it up and listened. My head was not in the call. I was calculating how I would take the Smith and Wesson .38 special from her. My calculations were perturbed by the familiar voice I heard. “Robert, this line is secure. The bag contains all that you require for tomorrow. Make sure to confirm execution before leaving. Half of the cash is in your account…” “Wait, what?” I interrupted. “You are too fast. Is it my Barret.50 Cal? And what’s with the female eventualities?”. I knew the voice was Abraham’s and he had some important information. “You are too slow. Your favorites are in the bag. And the girl who has a Smith and Wesson .38 special with her is yours for the night. Make the best out of it. However, the Barrett.50 Cal is loaded with one bullet, you only have one shot” He hang up.

I looked up and smiled. She handed back my gun and smiled. I opened the bag and confirmed his utterances. Things were getting harder each minute. She watched me go back and forth. She stood there. Silent. I went for my laptop. I saw the cash. It was there. She also saw it. She was stunned of course and all she could say was “wow.” I closed the laptop so she won’t see more. The door was still open. As I went for the door, she started undressing. She got on the bed. The door was now closed. I turned, looked straight to her eyes and said “Robert.” She giggled. “Well, I could have the pleasure of knowing your name.” I continued. “Oh, c’mon Allan. I know all about you. I came here on my own volition. I’m sorry for the unpleasant welcome. Come to bed, I’ll make it up.” She giggled again. I know it was foolish for me to hesitate but who gets served with gold on a silver platter?

Just like the juxtaposition of choosing stupidity over intelligence, I headed for the washroom to take out the heat. I got out to find dinner. She got us some fast foods. We traded stories as we ate. We talked mostly about the missions I’ve done and how excellent I have been. I told her I had never missed a target. We got so much attached with Cassie and we kicked it. We got hail Mary for like 2 hours and I wasn’t entirely exhausted. She did most of the job. I said most, not all. She was better than me of course, that’s what you get when you dedicate half of your life learning how to kill people and spending the other half killing for a living.

We both slept off and some bad dream woke me up earlier than expected. In that dream, Roisin and I were holding hands. Dancing. It was all night and we were in a cemetery. Dancing on our graves. It was creepy how a delivery girl would come to my head and dance. It was even more creepy when we danced on our graves. I left Cassie on the bed and got to my laptop. I confirmed the attendance of Miguel. I watched his videos more and remembered his moustache and the rings on his left fingers. I got my equipment, everything was in check. No faults.

My map, my calculations were all in my head. No tangible calculations. All of them, the execution, the escape. All of it. There’s no way something was going to be wrong. Cassie woke up to find me cleaning my Smith and Wesson .38 special “want to kill me darling?” she joked. “I want to have you for breakfast.” “Oh, you getting addicted. Your reputation allows you to get more than Cassie. The Kardashians are your level.” What better thing than a woman putting you on a pedestal?

The morning was glorious. Despite all that Cassie and I did, I felt some premonition of doom. My intuitions were telling me that something is entirely off. I scrapped it off since my paranoid self would ruin the moment. And Cassie had a good way of making me think of other human things. I felt relieved. Still, I didn’t go to Mexico to get laid. I woke up. Put my stuff in check. My flight back was at 1730 hours, approximately 2 hours after execution. With all that commotion built up and the time wasted at the 4 stops for security check up before boarding the plane, I wouldn’t have time to pack.

All was set and I left for Malinalco at 1500 hours. Maneuvered through some path ways and got to some restaurant to assess the situation. My bag pack with me. There was so much security and it was so much satirical that the Angel of death was there and they did not recognize him. I turned my gaze only to find Cassie coming. She was damn sexy and I hated her for being a distraction. She knew what I would say so she spoke first. She was brief. “Accommodate the back door.” She left. I knew where the backdoor was but the shot from there was quite risky. A reflection could expose me.

I took the drive way to the end of the cul-de-sac and got to the Royal hotel. The room I had booked yesterday was still unoccupied. It was half past 3 and I was running out of time. I got to the window. It was confusing that the only way to get the view of the back door was if I made the shot from the balcony. It was not that hard considering that the room was at the top floor of a 21 storey building but that would expose me to the scorching sun. I had to make a decision. I took out my Barrett.50 Cal and confirmed the single bullet. I raised it and waited. Targeting both the front and the back door. There were so many cars but I knew his car. 20 minutes past and still his car was not there.

It was past time but I still waited. I couldn’t afford to fail the mission. As I thought how hard I worked and how far I came from, his car came in and the applause from people alerted me. Everyone got out but the sight of Miguel Garcia was still unconfirmed. I moved my Barrett.50 Cal to the back door just in time to see some security detail opening the door. I felt his presence. They moved as a unit but I noticed the silver rings shining on his left fingers. I had to make a calculated guess on where his head would be. I took a deep breath, held my lover tightly and released my baby. The bullet got through the wooden door and someone was down. I confirmed the rings on the fingers of the dead person. Perfect shot. Cassie was right. I smiled.

©Rashid Hunt 2018

THE VOICE

Dearly beloved,

Its my sincere hope that this benedicted piece of paper finds you in your best moods; and that you are fairing on well at the other end of the country. You’ll be flabbergasted, no doubt, to receive this letter but I could not withhold myself from scribbling because of reasons best known to the High Deity. Well, we are just condemned to live in this world, as for the planning and how things would run chronologically, that’s for God.

I know that you might consider my handwriting so pathetic as my desk mate Joe Ngatia does but, that’s how I massage the truth with oils of words. However, for me this letter is a celebration, a final act of love, a quality which, in spite of my studies, in spite of tomorrow’s verdict (which you have no idea about but in the fullness of time you’ll hear about), I do possess in abundance.

Its been a while, hasn’t it? Usually I pour out a few words at this juncture to explain why I’ve not written to you for such an elongated period of time. I could, but I’m not going to. Words of excuse may seem boring at this stage and also a little bit pointless. This is because from being a desk mate I may be an inmate and if the judge is so much considerate, subject me to the chair which will not let me see the struggle again behind bars. At least that was my thought when I pleaded guilty. Promise me that you won’t cry.
I always treasure the day I met you and that was when I realized that the world was new and fishes flew in golden ponds while pigeons swam in sapphire skies. In the love we them shared have I found happiness, a true resting place, a shelter from the many storms that have buffeted my brief life. This may surprise you considering that our love was never consummated and that you may have possibly forgotten me, having not seen me these two years but it is logic that on the night before tomorrow I should write to you and pour out my consolement.

Have you ever been on the eye of a raging hurricane or in the middle of a fierce storm such that the storm destroys everything around it? Well, I was attracted by the storm in your eyes which inexorably pulls me towards you and I never gained the strength to resist.
For as much the reason for writing to you is unknown and the reason for refraining myself was also in absentia, the reason why I wrote to you in the near past was that the zeal and anxiety would grow in you so that every day, you may want me in the threshold of your being. I miss you. Actually, my dream was for us to have an extremely fabulous and outrageous wedding that will culminate to a humongous house on a hill-top in the leafy suburbs of Nairobi. That dream is no more valid.

I am not asking for your understanding nor sympathy, I need neither. What I want is for you to take care of yourself and I must confess that without you, the world would come to a standstill. I know you would weep for having lost the best but the only step is to move on. Don’t settle for a single star while there’s a whole galaxy to be explored.

I love you with all the strength of my tenacious mind. My heart is as light as the daylight which seeps stealthily into our darkened world. My time is up sweetheart. Its dawn. I send you all my love. Be a good girl.
Yours loving,
Chidy

©Rashid Hunt 2018