Your delicate touch is already working magic on me



Chukwukwe Eugenia Adaku


Sometimes, time seems to tumble slowly through tick-tocking seconds when timid souls surround themselves with white-washed thoughts and silent sounds slipping towards “wait, stay with me… please”. But it’s never announced beyond a pained expression and quivering lip, perhaps a whimper. Because what petrifies some with thoughts of weakness and cowardice, pathetic pandering for a person, is truly paralysis of sympathetic stimulation–a paradoxical pause between fight or
flight. It is the suppression of such serious expression, not a mark of weakness. Outward and untoward expression is usually conceived and written off as a sign of aggravated apathy; tremulous silence is truly a testament to endurance.
It confuses those who remain inarticulate as well as
those who receive the white-hot absence of speech. Hearts rip and melt here, minds reel and fade,
stomachs churn and clench. But here they remain,
just a plea away from pardon.

Sometimes, Reconciliation fails to arrive, a quixotic
and debonair fool left tracing circles in the sand on
a glowing beach. Lulled by the crashing waves, he
can’t hear the call for forgiveness that isn’t uttered.

Sometimes, it takes a temporary loss to achieve a more stable and permanent gain. Hearts aren’t hard but they are mighty and malleable, resilient and real. They are for sculpting once, twice, maybe thrice, but to continually remold them is to inadvertently fit cracks and crumbles into their core.

So build me up again please. Your delicate touch is already working magic on me. Leave Reconciliation to occupy his own whimsies–we can go a step further.


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