When we are in bed, she draws hungrily to me. She pulls me close. She holds my arm and squeezes it, like checking for the ripeness of a fruit… Checking for the ripeness of my love? My arm is cold and hard. I wrap her in my embrace. She calms down. Her breathing slows. She seems so fragile. I can break her. It would be too easy.
I don’t love anymore. I know she senses this but she is a giver, a lover. She hopes she can love me until I love her back. I don’t remember how to love. It has been so long. Maybe she is checking if I am real. I am and I am not. Corporeally, yes. Sooner or later, I will run. I always do. It is then that I will break her. Better I break her before she breaks me. Better I run before she tears down my walls.
Marundu 