Love’s Fringes

Hi Readers 🙂

This post falls under our WRITERS CRUSH EVERYDAY category. My theory is, why wait till Wednesday? Hands down everyday should be crush day!

That being said, this story was written by a good friend of mine, a fellow Manchester United supporter (story for another day!) I have known him for awhile now, we even collaborated on some creative artsy things. He is a poet and a writer, truly gifted. Did I mention that he also writes songs? His name is Kaluwe. As always Thank you for reading.


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He called asking me out to lunch. For what, I had asked whilst feigning a lack of care. The recent past’s sake, he had answered. Why did he even bother? He cared, supposedly. Then why had he led me on, strung me along and kept me thinking I meant something, anything, to him? He did not know how to tell me. He did not know! I had always thought the only proviso for knowing how to tell someone anything that you deemed important, or even daft, was the ability to speak…

Funny thing about it all is: I would go on that date and be right on time.

Why? Well, they say love does not ask why. So, how? We’d trod a one way street for sometime – he for I, I for him. We had fun, a lot of fun. Life was pretty much the best it could be.

Thirty three days – that is how long bliss lasts. All those serene walks to the moon and back, the seemingly endless laughs, the romps… I never thought they would all turn into a reverie, the painful type relived every waking moment. It never crossed my mind for once that it would all end, least of all in the way that it did. As they say, “all good things come to those who wait”. What they unforgivably failed to add is: ‘when they are finally had, they just do not last.’

It was at the first poetry reading I attended that I met him. I had jumped at the chance to see how the reading went because I hoped to meet people who had similar dreams, goals, and passion. The evening was loads of fun. Great writers lit up the stage one after the other reciting works that plunged me deeper into my long held belief that writing did me more good than being cooped up in the kitchen ever could. To crown it all, I summoned the courage to read a poem I had written a few days before.

Afterwards, a couple of people told me that they had loved my piece. I kept mumbling my thanks and smiling myself sore. Then He came.

“Hi. My name is Mark. That poem was a bit too short it washed right over me. Would you read it to me over coffee and cake?”

“Yeah, sure.” I replied without thinking, blinded by my thirty seconds of fame.

By the end of the entire event, I had told him everything I had kept shut up in the recesses of my subconscious. I never told people I had more than a passing interest in writing. Actually the stares I got turned me secretive. I just never told anyone that I enjoyed writing.

But this was different. He was different. He had asked to hear my poem a second time and I read it to him. I must admit I had enjoyed that especially since he loved it.

Anyway, we did meet again and again, and everyday after that. I had never met anyone I was so eager to please. That lasted till that crazy day. The day that he told me… What a nerve!

He had come home that afternoon. It was special; lunch, movie and he even gave me a nice fluffy pink doll. “To remind you of how special you are to me my angel,” He’d said. He left me a letter he made me promise to read after he left. In it was the one sentence I will never forget: “Believe it or not, some girl is pressuring me to wed her. I have told her I am not in a hurry but she blurts it out to her parents.”

The crazy thing is, here I am preparing for the date. I will appear to enjoy it. She will call in the middle of it all and he will leave right after planting a kiss on my forehead and pledging his undying love. I will sit there like a fool. Then I will go home and wait for his next call and circle the block all over again. Love…



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