At night, alone, you wake up

And you feel like you’re free falling

Into the depths of despair

You become despondent

Who do you turn to?

At noon, surrounded on every side

You’re talking and it’s like a silent film

Your spirit is yelling, a monologue

You are tired,

Where do you run to?

It’s rush hour, you’re on the bus

People get on and get off

Your phone is your companion

Till you get off,

What are you going home to?

I know how much you love reading and writing long, well-written letters, so I hope you enjoy this one. I can vouch for the length but not for how well it’s written, so please bear with me.

Here are the quick updates.

Mom misses you; her mode of expression is…


Yoruba Woman.

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