Blunt Tales and Coffee ☕️

I smoked until my eyes began to water. I knew I'd always been unsure about the strength of my sight, but now, without my glasses and within this kaleidoscopic room, I begin to doubt it even more. My date is in a corner of the club, grasping a tainted glass of room-temperature sparkling water within his pitted palms and stubby fingers, and staring hungrily at the buttocks of a light-skinned plus-size lady strutting past him. With each movement, the neon lights make it harder for me to hold onto the sight of his appalling attitude, and even though the raspy speakers boom of “Lambo” by Burna Boy, a song I’d typically not glower at, I find myself thinking about the artist and the background of the music in a bid to get my foggy mind off the entire situation.  Burna Boy is a certain artist who grew up on the schizophrenic streets of Port Harcourt, Nigeria. I don't think it'd excessively amaze you, my audience, to know that for the longest time, I thought this artist originated f...

(Photo: Pinterest) One minute, she’s lying in your arms, whispering sweet nothings into your ears and drawing invisible, scabrous lines on your chest and cheeks until you begin to wonder why she’d chosen you even though there are thousands of better-looking women who’d prostrate at her feet at the slightest sound of her voice. One minute, her hands and feet are finding yours beneath the brunch table in a not-so-crowded restaurant, and you keep thanking God for finally leading you to ‘the one’. One minute, she’s winking and blowing you a kiss—which you grab from across the room and stuff into your pockets, making an effort to stop grinning wildly. One minute, you’re her everything, and she, yours. Next minute, you’re both arguing over the phone. She’s telling you “We can’t keep going against God’s will!” and you keep reiterating that you know God. You're screaming at the top of your lungs that you know it can’t be in God’s character or will to tear down something so pure—so gentle, ...