I miss you so much that it hurts. There are so many things that I took for granted that I didn’t realise meant more to me at the time. Watching you struggle to wake up each morning was one of my favourite things to do each day. As a morning person, the way you would always wake up cranky for the first few minutes until I managed to tease a smile out of you made my morning brighter.
I miss our mornings together as we prepared for work and the day apart. I miss how you would tell me every single morning how beautiful I was, even when I felt like something the cat dragged in. You would help me get ready if I was running late, and make me my breakfast smoothies to keep me energised in the mornings. I miss the way you would text me in the middle of the day to tell me how much you missed me already, and whenever either of us had to travel for the weekend, I miss the way you would send countdowns each morning until we met again.
You were always a great nurse when I was under the weather, tending to me, reading to me, and making me laugh with bad jokes and terrible memes. I miss how you would call me “Odo”, in that deep voice that promised both protection and naughty deeds. You always knew what I needed, even before I mentioned it, and you never let me ask for anything before giving me what you thought I needed.
I miss you teasing me about my lateness at every event we went to, threatening to leave without me but never managing to do it. I miss the way you unconsciously touched me in some way each time I was near; your hand on my thigh, around my waist, touching my shoulder, or holding my hand. I miss how you loved to hold my hand each time we went out, intertwining our fingers together and bringing our linked fingers to your lips from time to time. Your eyes would always search for mine across the room if we were apart, and the lopsided grin you would send my way when our eyes met made me feel cherished. I miss how you would tease me in the car on our way home from events, sliding your fingers over my leg in sensual promise.
I miss the feel of your rough hands running all over me, the way you would stare at me like I was something precious you couldn’t believe you could touch, and how your fingers would first touch me reverently, worshipping every part of me, before your eyes darkened with lust and your expression became one of a predator watching its prey. I would shiver with want and need, and then the hands that had been gentle before would become just the right amount of rough, fondling, and touching until I had that first orgasm from your fingers alone. Your fingers always knew how to arouse me to the point of desperation, playing my nipples and my clit like an instrument, and the sounds I made were music to your ears.
The apartment feels so lonely without you. Everything is just as it was before you left, except for the empty closet where your things are supposed to be and the deafening silence of your absence. Every room reminds me of you. We were one here, and even though you’re not here, the ghost of your memories with me in this house haunts every crevice. The kitchen reminds me of all the times you cooked for us or I cooked for us, the times we cooked together while listening and dancing to Highlife Music, and all the times we had to turn the stove off because something triggered arousal and we couldn’t wait until the food was done. I remember each time you braced my hands against the cool tiles, pushed my skirt up, pulled my panties aside, and fucked me hard into a quick orgasm because we were both too horny for finesse. I remember riding you to stupor so many times on our love couch, and I can’t shower without remembering all the wet, horny showers we had together or the sweet showers during especially painful menstruations where you would wash me carefully like I was a breakable child you were afraid to hurt.
I don’t know when it all started to go wrong. I don’t know why I started to panic and doubt what we had. I should have listened to you when you assured me that I was the only woman in your life. I should have told you when my insecurities began to play on my mind, festering like rotten seeds until they germinated and turned something beautiful into something bitter and horrible. I should have told you when things at work were taking a toll on me instead of taking it out on you. I should have shared my problems with you instead of trying to work them out by myself and letting them affect what we had. I’m sorry that I allowed my family pressures to also get into my head to the point where I was trying to fix everybody’s problems, absorbing all their issues, and not having enough energy left for me and you.
I’m sorry for being argumentative and defensive each time you tried to get through to me. I am sorry for making you believe that the downfall of our relationship was somehow your fault. I’m sorry for becoming someone that you couldn’t recognise and for killing the girl you fell in love with, and who fell hard for you. I’m sorry for allowing myself to fall into the downward spiral and self-destruction that not only ruined you and me and what we had but also ruined you and broke your heart.
I apologise for that last day; that was the load that broke the camel’s back. Kwame was only at our apartment to pick up documents that he left at work the day before. He was over so early in the morning, not because he had slept over, but because he was travelling to Kumasi for a funeral and was leaving at dawn. He just passed by to pick them up. When you came in, he hadn’t been there even for five minutes. I would never cheat on you regardless of what was happening between us, and I feel horrible for letting you believe that I could want any other man but you. I’m sorry that I didn’t explain his purpose when you asked why he was here and that I did not deny it when you asked me if I ever cheated on you with him. I wanted to hurt you by making you believe such nonsense, but in the end, I hurt myself more. The look of devastation and disappointment on your face haunts me every day. Each time I close my eyes, I remember the gut-wrenching hurt that filled your handsome face when I implied that everything we shared together meant nothing to me. You did nothing to deserve it, and I’m so sorry for taking out all my frustrations and problems on you—the one person who never hurt me and could have helped me handle it.
I still think of you as my love and my heart, although I know I don’t deserve to call myself that. I often lie in bed at night, missing the heat of your body next to me, cuddling me tightly to your chest as if you’re afraid I would wake up and leave you in the middle of the night.
I don’t think that you’re anywhere near me watching over me because I don’t deserve it, but I hope that one of the Angels in heaven will pity me and pass on this letter to you.
I wish I could turn back the hands of time and let you know that you were everything to me, but unfortunately, the icy hands of death do not give second chances to regretful people.
I hope that before that month, when everything went to hell, I showed you how much you meant to me and gave you almost as much care as you gave me.
Quansah, please know that you were the best man I had ever met, and I loved you more than I ever believed I was capable of.
I’m sorry that I didn’t realise what love was until it was too late. I’m sorry I didn’t realise that I didn’t have to be perfect to love you until I lost you.
Like you always told me, I love you to the moon and back, Odo, always and forever.
Sleep Well, My Love.
Until we meet again.