In ’97, your little hands found mine in a children’s playroom in Benin and from that day, our story began. We grew up hand-in-hand, weaving through life’s many labyrinths. I finally felt your hold slacken as we crossed the threshold of adulthood: your hands had found another (Remi). Hers were prettier, softer, modelled to fit yours like a glove and she gave you the butterflies. My hands clench whenever you speak of her; hands which soon poisoned her; hands connected to shoulders which you grieved on and to a heart which bleeds an eternal unrequited love for you.


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