In ten years.

He said I smell like something sweet and silky. He said he loves the brown polish on my fingernails and how he knows it’s chipped at the edges because of all the hours I spend pounding away at my keyboard. He says that he loves the way my eyes are always lit up; like I have the greatest adventures and ideas running around in my mind and live in constant bemusement. He says that he loves how quiet my spirit is and likens my movements to the gentle sea waves.
He says he loves me. Says that my clumsiness and orderliness make the perfect paradox. He laughs at all the jokes I make about my large Kenyan forehead and always kisses me between my brows before he leaves. He says my eclecticism in everything I love- music, books, clothing, people- inspires him to color further outside the lines.
Most of all, he knows he loves my Father. He doesn’t even have to say it.

-Bungou Stray Dogs and Sunday Siestas
The man whose rib I carry.


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