“The world will try to rename you, Ada, but don’t let it rewrite your spirit.” My grandmother said that to me the night before I left Enugu. She held my hand under the mango tree, her eyes soft like dusk, her voice thick with the weight of wisdom. I didn’t understand then. I just smiled, … Read more
He read my poetry before he ever touched my hand. That should’ve been romantic. But now, I wish he never read a word. The poem was about grief — how it settles in the bones when someone you love leaves without warning. It was raw. Untitled. Anonymous. But somehow, Leo found me. “You write like … Read more
Dear Simi, I still love you. Not the way I did back then — foolish, selfish, blind. I love the version of you that survived me. The one I lost the right to love. The Night My Voice Broke I still remember the lights — hot, golden, blinding. The sound of snapping fingers echoing like … Read more