I'm not getting flowers:)

 

To love and to be loved are two totally extreme things. One is on one end and the other some other far end. Do you understand? Mnaget? Of course not! So let me explain. 

Case scenario/ POV/ Situation.

"Me and my boyfriend"

Welcome to my life, my bedroom mostly, our bedroom! (Sorry) and my heart, soul, mind.

If you asked me what love was precisely a year ago, since today (14/02), is our anniversary, I would have a really absurd answer. By absurd I mean the usual. The 'kawaida' love you hear about on wedding speeches or atleast in novels. Novels that are cliche'. Love for me was flowers. All kind of flowers I had an obsession with roses ever since I was little. (My mum's name is Rose.) How else then would you have shown love to that little girl than planting roses on her hands, doorsteps, bedroom floor! You feel me? Love was strawberries and all the cute stuff. The forehead kisses, the little hugs, hand holding, snuggling in bed, cute lil' names, making love under red lights, staycations, self care Sundays, yesss! All that! Looking back I really feel frauded. 

I know you are wondering why this is contradicting. That we met on Valentine's day yet my idea of love being roses and everything along those lines being a fraud a year later. Last year today I was walking home from my friends house and I had to pass by tao to collect a parcel. All these flower vendors on the streets were getting in my nerves,

 "Siste si ata ujibuie maua!"

 I had to get a single rose to keep any other vendor away from my face. I sat at a bench to request an Uber and I remember a couple on the other side of the bench being all lovey dovey. Eewwwwww!!! I was happy and rooting for them of course but all this pressure was sickening. I dropped my rose right there and stepped on it with the heel of my shoes just to streak that on Snapchat for all my single friends. Yikes! I was smiling at the idea and when I looked up a guy was approaching me, his eyes on the flower and his smile met mine. 

 He sat next to me comfortably and fist pumped me so hard and I felt as if I had met him before. But I hadn't.

 

 "Hello sad bitch!"

 "Sad bitch?!" 

 I had a look on my face that would send him away the next minute.

 "I said peach."

 Wow! I laughed at that.

 

 We had a conversation, some small talk, I was explaining to him how I got to buy one rose and why I was stepping on it now. I don't remember what he had to say about that just that my Uber arrived earlier that we could say too much.

 We exchanged contacts of course and later that night we had our first call that lasted for one hour plus. Interesting! Right? Long story short in like 2 months say April 2021, nilikua nimeingia box na nikafungiwa ndani. Infact I was almost living at his house. Mimi sio mslow btw.

To be loved I said is a whole other dimension. A whole other volume to talk about. I had expectations from day one. I knew how I'd love and I'm a gifter naturally so I did that for him. So much. I loved spending time with him, and his food you guysss. He cooks every single meal for me FYI, still does.

So the shift,

I was expecting the flowers. I was expecting the chocolates, the hugs, the snuggles, the cute names, the sharing of a blanket at the couch, blah, blah, blah. But little by little certain things became more important. I don't mean the usual , not bills, not kids, not school, not jobs. No! I'm just 21!

I had dated before and I had met guys but no one really had this wierd superpower of changing the locks to my heart and mind and mostly my body like he did. Is this how you tell he's your soulmate? Love was no longer the flowers, or is it how I stepped at the rose on the day we met? Love because insanity. An enigma that I'm yet to make sense out of. But I know where to start to explain. It began with erotic nights to erotic days. Nothing ever felt or has felt casual with him. Saying it now feels kinda traumatic but comforting.

The night he took me to the peak, was an ordinary Sunday night, he was making dinner. I was working online. I tiptoed to the kitchen to taste his soup and he put it in my mouth. Wow! Dude can cook. I mean have you met a guy who can make actual pumpkin spice soup? No you haven't. We ain't the same. I have him. He's mine.

I walked back to the table and finished my work then switched to Big Bang Theory before food was ready. In minutes food was ready and I swear I ate in like 5 minutes and him 3 minutes or less. He prepared a bath that we took together talking about stuff. Usual stuff with random touching. It was at those moments that I felt so close to him. 

After the bath we both crawled in bed and it all began with cuddling. One dirty word that led to kissing and stuff. Under the night lamp, his face looked taller, seductive and somehow intense. He was coming off strong so we both stood together stripping at each others clothes. A single bite at my neck would send 1001 jitters across my spine, hair, toes, everywhere. In moments like this he turned into a devastating animal that would hold me against the wall of the house and stroke himself inside of me like he's fighting a bear. The desire, the passion, the obsession, I would fell it then more than ever. He had a way of bringing out dark parts of me, one layer after another, or awakening emotions in me that I did not know exsisted. Or maybe he planted them a fresh. Sex that night stripped me off liberty, sense, numbness and I faced his eyes for the first time that night and yelled,

"More!"

"Harder!"

"Fuck me!"

He killed my softness with every time he pulled my hair. He awakened a new desire with every smack he had on my butt. And I loved all of it. I loved the slamming, the pulling, the way he said slut to my ears and the way I would see our shadows rock against each other on the opposite side of our bedroom wall. The moment he would stop I would feel lost and far away. I was blushing and biting at him and I knew I wanted him to go all night long. Our skins touched on surface a little too much occasionally, and I felt like he was piercing through me. In minutes we'd be on the floor laughing and fighting for breath after finishing together. 

I walked to the bathroom and stopped to have a look at myself. My neck was red with love bites. My hair was a mess and was I crying? My eyes were crazy watery! My back hurt from the scratching and I had red spots all over my arms from the pushing and pulling. I smiled at the events of that night and kissed a few red spots on my arms and looked up. He was standing behind me, naked, staring at me. He looked so hot while I watched him through the mirror, scanning my body. The next minute he was having me from behind mourning under my ears with so much passion. I turned to look at him and I'd see the freedom that grew in his eyes. The twisted affection and everything in between.

Every other night after this one fell along the same events more or less. I wanted him when I was outside and I'd hurry home just to get my hands tied against the bed. And so, to be loved was never flowers and candy, it was never roses and cute names, to be loved became to be wanted so immensely, to be taken to places I'd never been with just my mind and body and to be awakened sensually. And this love, it doesn't know so much, but it knows so well. I don't have a clue if it is love or if it is desire and obsession, or if desire, love and obsession should actually go together so well. But before I can place a name to it, one year ends today and I ain't getting roses, no (Fuck that noise). I'm getting a taste of the drug I want, I'm getting more, (Insert ArrDee's voice, 'I don't give girls flowers, I'll give you good wood though'). But all I got to say at the dawn of this day is I hope it lasts another year, as long as I'm alive like that every night!