Hic Habitat Felicitas Meus Amour
Here lives happiness my love….
That was what was inscribed on the ring; those words, in mixtures of cold metal, painted in gold flakes, bound to her bony fingers were his truth and his heart. There lied his happiness and she was it, his warmth.
Then much like the weather that changes so subtly, but demands recognition with abrupt shock, the warmth was gone. In its place was cold, like the winds of the harmattan it stung and like the dust that follows its waking path, it englobed and coated the perfect dream.
The dream ended on a warm night, but like most dreams he bid it farewell in the morning. She was gone, she was still. In its place, the warmth had left – and cold crept from her back to him.
The cold was his friend, so it did not bother him when it greeted him from the river, out from the fog that defines those kind of mornings and some kinds of lives. As he sat down on the bridge that early morning, while he swung his leg. The sun was rising steadily from the east, he recognized the warmth – as its sunlight touched everything but him.
Then the whispers hit him, they sounded strange, hoarse and desperate – they built on each other like so many things tend to do and in it they found strength to gain his attention. He turned to them but they were alien to him.
Shadows waving desperately, engaging in a strange dance to welcome the sun and he pitied them. They should make friends with cold as he had done, and dance no more.
With time, the loud whispers turned to noise, and in that noise, he was lost again, back to sunlight that touched all but him. His legs grew heavy and dead, his clothes dry from the rain the previous night.
He rose to move on to the new day, as one last gush of wind, pushed and sent him to the edge. While he held on to the rails, he smiled; “I know my dear, soon but not today.”
Olufemi Abikoye says, “The universe began as an enormous breath being held, I am glad that it did… until this great exhalation is finished, my thoughts live on. Please bear witness…”