๐‘ฌ๐’‘๐’Š๐’”๐’•๐’๐’† ๐‘ป๐’ ๐’€๐‘ฏ๐‘พ๐‘ฏ

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แดฐแดผ แตžแดผแต แต‚แดฌแดบแต€ แต€แดผ แดทแดบแดผแต‚ แดนแตž หขแต€แดผแดฟแตž?

"Kenneth."

He kept pacing.

"...and I met you. You weren't okay and it just broke my heart for some reason. How much can one person take? And I keep feeling this tug towards you, to check up on you but you're so stubborn. I had to pray about it all the time because I felt my heart was deceiving me or something. God knows how confused I was before I accepted that..."

He just paused.

"That what?"

"That I liked you."

โŠโŠโŠโŠโŠ

In my story I'm a child of unfortunate circumstances, born to a reckless father and a housewife mother although the world thinks I have it all. In my story I struggle between loving my parents even though their actions make me angry, I struggle to be the shield for my sister while leaving her alone to pick herself up, I struggle to fit in with my peers even though we we've been friends for years. I can't even hold on to the person who saw me and wanted me. I hide myself behind thousands of questions, anxiety and fear.

In my story I'm just another girl raised in Ibadan with nothing to look forward to. Hope is unknowingly what kept me together, hence I started writing letters.

What am I hoping for? Who am I hoping on? Why? Why do I write to a person I can't see? How desperate must I be?

I hope in a God I used to have around me. Though I don't blame him, I question why he left me, if he's still out there, and if he can still help me.

Or maybe he never left me at all.



"๐บ๐‘œ๐‘‘ ๐‘‘๐‘–๐‘‘ ๐‘กโ„Ž๐‘–๐‘  ๐‘ ๐‘œ ๐‘กโ„Ž๐‘Ž๐‘ก ๐‘กโ„Ž๐‘’๐‘ฆ ๐‘ค๐‘œ๐‘ข๐‘™๐‘‘ ๐‘ ๐‘’๐‘’๐‘˜ โ„Ž๐‘–๐‘š ๐‘Ž๐‘›๐‘‘ ๐‘๐‘’๐‘Ÿโ„Ž๐‘Ž๐‘๐‘  ๐‘Ÿ๐‘’๐‘Ž๐‘โ„Ž ๐‘œ๐‘ข๐‘ก ๐‘“๐‘œ๐‘Ÿ โ„Ž๐‘–๐‘š ๐‘Ž๐‘›๐‘‘ ๐‘“๐‘–๐‘›๐‘‘ โ„Ž๐‘–๐‘š, ๐‘กโ„Ž๐‘œ๐‘ข๐‘”โ„Ž โ„Ž๐‘’ ๐‘–๐‘  ๐‘›๐‘œ๐‘ก ๐‘“๐‘Ž๐‘Ÿ ๐‘“๐‘Ÿ๐‘œ๐‘š ๐‘Ž๐‘›๐‘ฆ ๐‘œ๐‘“ ๐‘ข๐‘ ."
๐ด๐‘๐‘ก๐‘  17:27

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