Creatives Garage | The Mirage That Is The Pursuit Of Happiness.
post-template-default,single,single-post,postid-53425,single-format-standard,qode-core-1.0.1,ajax_fade,page_not_loaded,,capri child-child-ver-1.0.0,capri-ver-1.4.1, vertical_menu_with_scroll,smooth_scroll,grid_1200,blog_installed,wpb-js-composer js-comp-ver-,vc_responsive

The Mirage That Is The Pursuit Of Happiness.

He’s told time heals all wounds.

He’s also told that at times, its much better to man up, build a bridge and get over it.

No need to cry over spilled milk right??? Although all things considered, everyone in Kenya right now would shamelessly sob and wail at the sight of their hard earned coin slowly seep into the moist ground. Such is the state of his beloved homeland.

Anyway, where were we? Yes, these internal wounds and septic scars often masked by forced smiles or hidden within alcohol aided nights filled with dancing, catching up with his jamaaz and whispering Sweet nothings into that pretty mammiz ear until she finally ”ingiaz box” after his numerous failed attempts,she bites his bait. Its not that she wasn’t interested, far from it, she thinks hes cute but is wary of the stories she hears about his ”player” lifestyle. She gives into her lustful curiosity, they head for shots, open that app,dial that cab or rather the chariot that’ll carry them to their perceived happy place. Normally, they’d call it a passion filled night however whiskey replaced the passion in their city the older they grew.

Off they go, a night of swimming in each others souls awaits. For him, its become an all too familiar routine, he coined the phrase ”a night of seeking some S.T.J” or sexually transmitted joy. There he is,her wet,cold lips  on his. Their tongues lost in dance. He feels a slight tremble in her whisper that is interrupted by short deep gasps of anticipation. She calls him ”baaabby” as he runs his hand across her neck, which thanks to all her goosebumps, now feels like the braille used by visually impaired people. He feels her tremble as the ”thithi” courses through her spine. He can barely contain himself. He’s the man of the moment. Religion is the opium for the masses, but not for him, no, he lives off her tremble, whisper and quick shallow breathing. NO!! He wont sit down..neither will he be humble. This is his moment, his eyes, fully dilated like those of a lion about to devour his catch, adrenaline doing Bugatti speeds in his alcohol filled veins. He’s happy, happier than he’s been all week long as he trudged through the days, briskly avoiding all mirrors or any form of self reflection. He fears what he will see, who he will see, will he recognize him???will he…like him??  ”Oh,but no,not right now,look at this peng ting with you, you’re happy”

At home between her thighs is where he feels safe, drowning in those beautiful eyes as she rolls them about is way better than drowning in the dark, cold, lonely abyss he’s been in. His hands lost on her curves, he follows these curves like a leaf meandering along the course of a river filled with honey . He can taste EVERY INCH of her body with the TIP of each and every finger.

Endorphin’s and dopamine explode in his body as they both finally reach the end of this rainbow together. He falls into her arms,weak,trembling. Confused as to whether this reaction is because its all over. Or perhaps its the fear of having to return to his earthly purgatory. It could be he’s trembling from fulfillment,but the self doubt blurs his judgement. All he knows for certain is that its over. His glimpse of happiness is finito. No,not act one scene one, its a wrap!! What comes at the end of the rainbow has become foreign to him. Hes not one for attachments, he barely knows himself, how will she possibly get to know him and eventually dare we say it, learn to love him??

No, he hasn’t got time for all that. Shirt on, where are his pants??socks,check,shoes?at the door. Unplugs his phone from its ”happy place” just as he unplugged himself from his. Open app,dial that cab. Back to life, back to reality. Your reality or his though?? A question he has never learned to answer. Next weekend,back to the debauchery.

Forever searching. Always finding but blind to it. Always losing. Always running.

But hey,time heals all wounds…..just never set an alarm on that.

Written by David Mwangi Kibigire
No Comments

Post a Comment