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251
Writer | Speaker | Creative Voice. I tell stories, make calls & design confidence. @ Yabatech
Lagos, Nigeria
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The Threshold
<p><br/></p><p><em>The morning arrived like an eviction....</em></p><p><br/></p><p>It was a cold that didn't just bite; it hollowed.... Suddenly, the house felt wrong. The walls were too close, this cycle begun again... whispers of the "<strong>saviors</strong>" who were actually predators... men who offered a better life while their hands only wanted to dismantle mine. </p><p>To them, I was a body to be harvested. To the others, I was a bill to be settled or a nuisance to be erased.</p><p><br/></p><p><em><strong>Then, there is Ade.....</strong></em></p><p><br/></p><p>The math of my life has shrunk to a trinity: God, me and him. If he leaves, the equation collapses. But if I leave, I leave him a life sentence of why? I cannot let the only man who truly sees me spend the rest of his life hating his own eyes for what they missed.</p><p><br/></p><p><strong><em>I walked until the pavement turned to steel....</em></strong></p><p><br/></p><p>I stood on the bridge, the world falling mute. The city became a blurred, distant static... a movie playing in a room I had already vacated. Below, the water was a dark, shifting silk, humming my name.</p><p><br/></p><p>The height didn't feel like a fall; it felt like an invitation..... I leaned into the iron railing and asked the empty horizon:<em><strong> “Would they miss me, or just what they took?” </strong></em></p><p><br/></p><p>The noise in my head was a roar... a symphony of every hand that tried to break me and every voice that tried to own me. ....</p><p><br/></p><p> I closed my eyes, feeling the bridge tremble, only to remember the one man who didn't want a piece of me. He just wanted me.</p><p><br/></p><p>I stood there, suspended between the pull of the tide and the weight of the only name I still recognized as my own.</p>
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