I have been here before.
This old, dusty den
Littered with your laugh and glances.
I can smell your skin
And it reminds me of
What my body felt against yours.
It tasted like sin,
But one I was happy committing.
So, I press delete on yet another file of regret
And focus on these scattered scents of nostalgia.
The last time I was here,
I was a different person.
A girl who tied her laughter
Around her words like a scarf.
You were here, too
And things were different…
A beautiful boy full of promises,
Eyes lined with life and its entire essence.
You gathered me in your arms
And it felt like my mother’s moonlight stories:
Fierce and fulfilling.
But this is no longer a place.
It is now a wish, and at best, an imagination.
A figment from the memories
We have long washed down the
Tunnel of endings.
This is a place my feet only find
When they are lost.
A desolate place
Filled with broken voices and
stories that once were
(fondly called “Da-muse” by friends) is a script writer, poet, elocution coach and a number of other interesting things. She finds joy and comfort in creating moments out of words. She is from Nigeria, where she currently works for a movie production firm as a script writer and an assistant director. Her social media handles are as follows: Twitter @ vivian-da-muse, I.G @iamodinakachi and Facebook @ Odinakachi Nwonu.