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Writewithoma
Fiction Author || Freelance writer || Content Creator @ National open university of Nigeria
Fiction Author || Freelance writer || Content Creator @ National open university of Nigeria
Cracks In Illusion
<p><em>Oh, but the devil did reach me, disguised as love.</em></p><p><em>He was everything I wanted him to be </em></p><p><em>everything I believed in, or was made to, till I saw what it truly was.</em></p><p><em><br/></em></p><p><em>He came in the hush of answered prayers, in the exact shape of what I begged God for on nights I thought no one was listening.</em></p><p><em><br/></em></p><p><em>Every word he spoke felt like it had been waiting for me, like he’d read the parts of me I never said out loud.</em></p><p><em><br/></em></p><p><em>I called it fate. I called it finally. I never once called it strange that he already knew where all my soft spots were.</em></p><p><em><br/></em></p><p><em>He wore skin like a costume, the type yunno that had been studied you have been studied.</em></p><p><em><br/></em></p><p><em>Finally fitting, you see the cracks of how you’ve been watched. </em></p><p><em><br/></em></p><p><em>The love you had longed for, like your secret prayers had been answered. </em></p><p><em>But yunno fully well, something wasn’t right.</em></p><p><em><br/></em></p><p><em>Notwithstanding if he longed for the love I craved, every touch or words possessed more than the last. </em></p><p><em><br/></em></p><p><em>Warmth from his cold fingers, you’d never imagine there was.</em></p><p><em><br/></em></p><p><em>Now I sit with the cracks, not running, not fixing, just watching the light I mistook for him leak out from where the mask used to be.</em></p><p><em><br/></em></p><p><em>I don’t know yet if I’ll walk away or stay and call it love anyway — some prayers, once answered, you don’t know how to unpray.</em></p><p><em><br/></em></p><p><em>Because oh, the devil did reach me, disguised as love, </em></p><p><em>and I’d welcome it </em></p><p><em>if it’s all I have.</em></p>
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