Quirkyalone

There were tears.
Many.
But this time they weren’t mine.
I did not make a sound.

There we were, seated at opposite ends of the table,
with him constantly trying to reach my hand,
my heart,
me.

“Is it too late?”

***

Remembering the last time we sat down here,
like this..
it was me on the hot seat.

I was trying hard to avoid his eyes;
eyes that spoke of disappointment.
Confused about his judgmental looks,
his condemning speech.
That day, he moved with an air of superiority.

I was The Accused.

Accused of many things.
Things that were now long gone;
that had happened long before we had even met;
long before we started dating.
Things he had been told in confidence,
in faith..
by me.

He was The Accuser.

And so I started explaining,
but he wanted no explanations;
“There’s no excuse!” he said,
no excuse for having given away
what was rightfully his,
if indeed I was to be his
till death did us part.

And so I cried.
How could I undo
what had already been done?

And as I fell to his knees,
weak, broken, torn,
he stroked my hair
and called me
Gomer.

And that was how it began.
The relationship in which I could never be me.
Could not speak, act, move, feel or think as I pleased..
for I feared
displeasing him.

I longed for his approval.
His smile.
His tender touch.
The assurance I had been forgiven.
I needed his forgiveness
more than I needed his love.
And so I took on the life of Ruth,
a humble servant at his feet.
An undeserving, redeemed Gentile bride.
I was ready to be his
for life.

***

Today it was all different.
And I smiled.
I finally had
peace.

See, I was not mocking or scoffing like he had;
at my honesty just three weeks into our dating-relationship;
at the openness about my past.
I would be a tainted bride.
Accepted.

Today he stood accused.
But not by me;
by himself.

Having courted for over a year,
and been engaged for another;
just a week prior to getting married,
he decided to throw it all away..
“With a member?”

***

This time I would not let him pressure me.

Yes, I loved him.
had felt thrill and excitement
at the thought of being his;
the idea of taking on more than just a new name-
a powerful title:
the pastor’s wife.
But I was not desperate.

“I’ll think about it.
About all you’ve said;
about “us”.
But not now.
I’ll do it when I’m ready.
Right now,
I choose to just think
about me.”

And with that, I walked away.

Advertisements

4 Comments Add yours

  1. Tyo says:

    I love this!

    “He stroked my hair and called me Gomer.
    And that was how it began.
    The relationship in which I could never be me.”

    This is deep. Gomer: Hosea’s wife, the prostitute!?
    He basically took upon himself the role of a deliver.. accused her of being a cheap prostitute… and then cheated himself- with one of his members.. life!!!

    1. DeMorrieaux says:

      lol *deep sigh* You know!!!

  2. habs says:

    Pastor and member doing after activity activities. I think av seen that Naija movie before! Lol.

    Would probably ask how long into the relationship before she opened up about her past? Depending on the extent of how big the secrets were, it would be hard to blame him at first because he might think that he was being deceived from day 1 (she being like a wolf in sheep clothing [in his view]).

    It’s still no excuse for him being a d**chb*g by following up with a move like that. And he was behaving like an arrogant angel. smt

    1. DeMorrieaux says:

      it says it though…
      she opened up to him about their past 3 weeks after they first met.
      I think that’s very respectable and commendable.

      He on the other hand, Pastor Holier-than-thou.. smh

feel free to say something..

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s