A love that melts

I want to freeze time. Right here, right now. Keep us captured in these moments. Even if it's only for a few hours, a few days. I wish I could. I want us to live inside this room.

Removed from everything and everyone else. Just us, exchanging the same air.

I want us to rewatch those movies that we have seen a thousand times before and hey! since time is frozen, we can see new ones. Why not? We are not going anywhere.

I want the flashlight from your phone to illuminate the whole room, balanced on the bathroom sink between the mirror and the wash hand basin, while we both discover your playlist. I want to fall in love with the type of music you listen to, dancing carelessly in the bathroom while Mary on a Cross fills the air. I want to adopt your nighttime routine, brushing my teeth mechanically while staring into your eyes in the mirror.

I want to play with your hair in the early hours of the morning, running my fingers through your coily locs, listening to your heartbeat with my eyes closed—your heart in my ears.

I want to wake up in the morning next to you, stretch my hand, and feel the warmth of your body. I want to always keep your legs intertwined with mine, our thighs softly greeting each other.

I want you to open your eyes, gently kiss my forehead, and ask, “How was your night? I hope you slept well,” your voice melting into my ears like butter. I want to look up at your face and smile, catching those stars in your eyes.

I want us to do breakfast together every morning.

You cooking or warming the meal from last night. Me sitting on that one plastic chair close to the store, where bags of water and a carton of Indomie are kept. Watching you move around the kitchen, always a smile on your face, always telling a lame joke. I will laugh still; not because your joke is funny, but because your presence fills me with joy.

I want us to do the slow, exaggerated lovemaking. Yes, I said lovemaking. Not fucking, not having sex, but lovemaking. With you asking, "Are you okay?" every two seconds. Us having full-blown conversations, half laughing, half talking during thrusts. Kissing me like your life depends on it. And in that moment, it will feel like it does.

Looking into my eyes, whispering into my ears, “You are so beautiful,” while you sink deep into me. I want us to pray every night before we sleep, your hands locked in mine. You leading the prayer, me mumbling endless streams of “amen.”

I want us to lay on the cool floor on nights where we can no longer hear the humming sound of the AC or feel the blades of the fan running after each other. I want both our bodies to marinate together in the shared feeling of heat, allowing me rest my head on your chest despite it.

I want those slow, lazy afternoons where we enjoy the mutual silence, the warmth of the sunlight slipping through the window blinds. Your right hand on the laptop placed on the pillow in front of you, your left hand resting on my ass, while I mindlessly scroll through TikTok. I will look up and find you staring with a soft intensity—the type of stare that tangles the words in my throat, that restricts the movement in my nostrils, the type of stare that seizes the breath in my lungs.

Our eyes both speaking the same language. The type of stare that makes us effortlessly fall into an easy kiss. A kiss that says, you are safe here.

And on windy February evenings, I want us out on the veranda, the breeze gently playing with our faces, sending goosebumps all over our bodies. Me wearing nothing else but my panties and your faded polo shirt, you wearing nothing else but your favorite boxers. Seated on the floor, in between my thighs while I make the most ugly-looking cornrows on your head, singing passionately to Style Plus’s Olufunmi, stretching the lyrics as though they were made for us.

When I'm done, you will smile and say, "I love it, babe," without even looking at it. We both know you are lying.

And I know we still have those hard, joyless, long days.

Days where loving you suddenly feels like I am carrying the weight of something heavy.

Days where we fight and argue over the silliest things.

Where the mere sound of your voice annoys me.

Where I walk into the bathroom and find little balls of foam splattered all over the wall, or where you complain about how large I cut the onions—seeing big rings of purple scattered inside the pot of jollof rice.

You swearing you will not eat, claiming I want to poison you.

Me hissing and walking out of the kitchen, the smell of spices still clinging to my body.

Days where our conversations are laced with insecurities and regrets. Both of us afraid to even breathe next to each other because the sound of it may offend the other.

Days where we raise our voices, slam the doors, and walk away from each other.

Days where I shout and swear and curse you out, shaking violently.

Days where you hold me, press your body against mine, stroke my hair softly, and whisper into my ear, “I’m not him.”

I’ll hold you tighter, pretend the world outside doesn’t exist.But time never listens. Morning always finds us, dragging us back into motion.

And maybe that’s okay because a love like ours was never meant to be frozen. It was meant to melt. Slowly, painfully, beautifully into everything we touch.