9. The Ghost Between Us
DoBH – Ntin ’23
October 10th 2023
Your beauty held me still,
A quiet command in the softness of your face,
And in the depth of your eyes—a kind of ache, unspoken but felt.
It was like they saw past defenses I’d forgotten were there.
I was transfixed, taken in by mystery, drawn to the possibility.
Who is this beautiful man?
There was something within you, something hidden yet calling.
I couldn’t name it then, but I know now.
You came towards me, cautious and guarded,
The way someone might approach a flickering flame.
You told me I had familiar eyes,
And laughed nervously, quick to reassure me it was a compliment.
Your wit danced, a veil for the nerves simmering beneath, they were there for a good reason;
And it struck me, that delicate contradiction, that pull of opposites.
Now, I see why. But back then, I only smiled.
One conversation slipped into another,
The tentative unfolding of two souls finding common ground,
An awkward sweetness like the movies,
The kind where every pause, every glance is weighted with the unknown.
How romantic! I thought,
Unaware of the weight you carried.
You warned me with a laugh—
I’m terrible at this.
At the time, I thought it charming; now, I understand.
With each passing date, our awkwardness gave way to something warmer.
Conversations deepened, and sparks rose in the spaces between us,
Like embers catching light.
Your words were laced with values carefully tended,
A hint of naivety in that cute way of rose colored glasses,
An innocence of someone who still believes, even after storms.
In those moments, I thought I’d glimpsed something rare,
A connection being built, piece by piece.
I couldn’t have known then, but now it’s clear.
Then, after five dates, came the invitation—your private world.
A gesture so simple yet layered in trust.
You welcomed me in with a proud smile,
You cooked, hands steady as if crafting something sacred,
And there was a tenderness even in the way you hugged me,
A quiet assurance, as if to say, Here, you’re safe.
Maybe you felt it too—that quiet feeling of home.
I thought we were building something lasting.
I was so sure.
As the evening wore on, your defenses slipped.
Perhaps it was the liquor that I had watched you gobble down,
Or maybe the intimacy of a shared space,
But something cracked, and a shadow poured through.
The haunted recesses of your heart,
The story that lingered behind those captivating eyes,
The diary of your broken heart laid bare.
Then, her name.
It contorted your face like a wound reopening,
And you drifted, pulled into memories too heavy to hold alone.
You weren’t just remembering; you were reliving.
I didn’t understand it then, but now I know.
Two years, and yet it seemed her absence was a presence,
Not a scar, but a raw wound still throbbing,
Bleeding into the space between us.
I sat there, witnessing the ghost of a love you’d lost,
Feeling the weight of your suffering,
Knowing I could not reach where you were.
I offered my arms, but you recoiled, retreating deeper into that silence.
So I sat there, quietly, my heart breaking.
I’m sorry, I whispered.
I didn’t fully grasp what I was sorry for, but it was all I had.
I didn’t know it then, but now I see.
I was sorry for the fractures of your soul,
Sorry for the love you lost and couldn’t release.
Sorry that whatever existed between us was doomed to live in the shadow of another.
Sorry that you believed this pain was yours to bear alone,
Sorry that, even with me beside you, you felt so utterly isolated.
Sorry that my presence, however willing, couldn’t bridge the distance within you.
Sorry that the only person that could help you was YOU;
I was just sorry, and there was no cure for it.
Deborah Nyamu,
DoBH,
2024.
