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Dear You,

I’ve been having funny dreams lately. I see you walking into my life with parachutes and lots of bags – baggage. Yes, I know we are about to fly, but are you ready to carry my luggage too? I’ve been born and raised in closed boxes and where I am now is a place of retribute; I’m paying tribute to past pains by living in an ocean of good things – happy deeds and poetry.

I’m not sure if anyone taught you how to love. But the man in me is a boy who loves to child. I love playing with mud and dancing to Awilo Longomba in the middle of the quietest nights; the gloom of the earliest mornings. I will sing to you on the first phone call I make you in the morning because life is music and I’m the lyrics. I pray that you are a good dancer. You don’t have to know how to shake your African treasures but at least know how to dance to words. If you could listen to the tunes in my speech, and I, the vibrance of the sound that comes out of your expressions, and laughter, then we are going to Rome together. No, Nairobi; my home. Do you have a home?

I’ve been to many relationships; met bold and beautiful girls and women. It’s nothing to be proud of. Through it all, I learned that there is a selflessness that is needed in order to give someone your heart. Emotions are expensive. To sell them to anyone takes lots of nerve and risk. We love wearing clothes and masks that cover our souls so as to create false impressions of a life we do not own. Well, I don’t want to wear clothes around you. I want to be as naked to you as I am to God, woman.

Yours,
Dan

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