I: You don’t like me. You just wanted to get close to my friend. You want my friend.
M: I like you. I can have any woman I want and if I wanted your friend I would have had her.
If ever there was total bollocks. The sheer sakara, as Wole Soyinka once put it. Bravado, no ice. I could not stand being exposed for the liar and hypocrite I was and I was going to eel my way out of that apt accusation in any way I could. Not long after, I would fade away, cowardly, from her life. She was right. I do not know why I did not just admit it from the beginning. Maybe things would have been different. In some ways, I still find myself persisting in charades like that, adrift on the turbulence, riding crest after crest of heartache, surfing expertly, never once wiping out.
Do you know that sensation, where you look forward to being hurt the same way you have hurt others, where you feel that there are debts you have not paid? I sense that I owe karma somehow. Maybe then, after the dance where I am the one left with bleeding feet, I will shake off the guilt of my sins, the presentiment that my comeuppance is overdue, ever skulking around a near corner, sharpening the knife with which to bleed me with and remind me that whatever my thoughts, I am still just human.