the way you were before pt. 2

I don’t think I have told you, but I think I’m going crazy.  

I don’t recognize all the parts of my mind anymore. 

I think my mind is, at many times, not under my own control.  

I feel like I don’t have full and complete ownership of my being anymore.  Or maybe I am realizing that I never had as much control to begin with.  

There is a man, 

I have been getting to know this man, and there have been times in our conversations  when he said “that out of all the foods in the world, he hated boiled brussels sprouts and  boiled okra” (two of the foods I remember you eating large amounts of in the last year  we spent together. The last year you were here in the way you were before).  When you were alive. 

Or this man would say that his favorite book of the Bible is John (your middle name and  your father’s name) because he thinks it is a book that expresses love.  Or that he would laugh as he spoke about childhood memories of eating sweet corn,  something the two of you like but doesn’t quite hit my heart or my tastebuds in the same  way. 

Or maybe it’s because I first spoke with him the day before you left.  The day before you died. 

And I was so happy that night after speaking with him. And you were so happy too, for  your own reasons that I will never know.  

And you were even so happy the morning after, saying a cheerful good morning two  times! When only days before you shared sleep tinged and strained “Good Morning,  hun.”  

But, this man.  

This man seems familiar.  

And he seems kind. And sometimes I think he is mine. Which doesn’t make sense  because I don’t know him.  

And then there are days when I have wondered how he would protect me and when  there is danger. Or I think about making children with this man.  

And in those moments, I really do think I am crazy.  

But, I welcome it.  

Just like I welcome the crazy thoughts that pretend you are still here. That pretend you are still here in the way that you used to be.  

As if you were still alive.

g. mnkande

is a novice storyteller and storylistener who is currently living just outside of Baltimore city. if trying to locate her follow the sounds of off-key humming, the smell of sizzling pork, or background orchestra like instrumentals of a british detective series and you are sure to find me. g. mnkande is an observer and listener by trade and nature. influenced and impacted and often lifted by the global and local communities that have let her in and stay a while. feel free to visit her on twendebwana.wordpress.com or drop a line at twendebwana@gmail.com.