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 Author Zola



So, I bought the wine you recommended. It tastes like shit. I’ll stick with my Smirnoff Ice. My mum keeps suggesting that I go back to Dr. Bolarinwa. That man is sick in the head! How can a supposed therapist be such a creep? See what I said about men? They are all the same. I’m starting to enjoy pasta. It’s like my taste in food has changed. For better? Well, I don’t know. Smoothies are slowly becoming a daily thing: I take them mostly for breakfast. Had pineapples, apples and banana smoothie for breakfast today. Chris said only invalids take smoothies. He is not exactly wrong. I just got discharged two weeks ago. Mum is tired, I can see it even if she is saying nothing. Dad said he might have to call Pastor Jay eventually because I need “deliverance”. I guess the prayer mountain trips is taking a toll on them. What if I tell them there’s no God and the Devil they keep praying against is actually them? Nah, I’m not going to that prison again. You don’t think I’m possessed, right? Or maybe I am.

Do you remember the orange tree at the back of the salon? The landlord cut it down. One of our favorite spots is gone. Does your eye still twitch when you’re anxious? You always look cute and vulnerable when it happens and I’m usually the vulnerable one. I’ve been trying to imagine you with short hair, it’s quite hard. You’ve probably changed the colour of your locs again.  

  I know you told me to let you be but it seems this break is taking forever. I miss you. I miss your brownies. I miss everything. You know I once bought that perfume you used because I missed you and how you smell. Everything was better with you here. Everything.

 Tito, I am sorry I did this to us. I really am sorry. I know this won’t repair the damages done but please hear me out. Aunty Dera had already been suspecting us before she went through my phone. The first time she did, I told her we were friends and that telling each other I love you was just platonic expression. I thought that was the end of it. I would never deliberately hurt you. Then she saw the video I sent you. She was going to tell my parents everything. What I did was terrible and selfish, I know. I shouldn’t have let her bully me into telling them you pushed me into lesbianism, that you were the one the Devil was using to possess me. I could have said the truth right there. I know you begged me to be careful; you weren’t ready yet, but I was too careless. It was your story to tell, but I was too caught up to think of you and the implications. Please forgive me Tito.

Please don’t hate me. 


I read my letter the third time. Shredding it is much harder than writing, but I just can’t bring myself to send it. I add the newly shredded paper to the pile of other shredded letters. Can’t wait to hear my dad complain about me wasting his precious A4 papers. I will throw the trash out before he gets back, it’s only a few days before I leave anyway.

Dear bolatito by Zola, adeola write, Readersketch Zola, Zola writings


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