“Tiba tiba di telpon mantan, terus dia minta putus”

Marbot Mushola

5 a.m.
I’m supposed to wake up, but the truth is that I haven’t slept. No “good morning”. No, “I love you”.

6 a.m.
It’s time for breakfast. You would have had muesli and I would have clumsily had my eggs. But, it’s only for one now.

7 a.m.
Embrace. A kiss. A “have a nice day”. But, it’s only locking the door behind me now.

8 a.m.
A message to make sure we got to work safely. I stare at my phone, but there are no messages to display, except old ones I have kept.

9 a.m.
I can’t concentrate.

10 a.m.
The coffee tastes bitter. I can’t concentrate. The cigarette hurts my lungs, but I still smoke it – trying to exhale you.

11 a.m.
I can’t concentrate.

12 p.m.
Lunchtime conversations surround me. I know where you are, but I can’t walk to you. We won’t be sharing our lunch and discussing the morning.

1 p.m.
I can’t concentrate.

2 p.m.
I can’t concentrate.

3 p.m.
Another coffee and another cigarette. It’s still the same. I don’t look forward to leaving work. There’s nothing to go home to.

4 p.m.
People are making plans for the weekend already. There are still no new messages to display.

5 p.m.
I can see them rushing out the door. That would have been us. I stay seated. I want to cry, but not here – not at work.

6 p.m.
I can’t concentrate.

7 p.m.
I can’t concentrate.

8 p.m.
I missed my bus. It’s raining and I have an umbrella, but no one to share it with. My left shoulder of my suit will remain dry.

9 p.m.
We would have shared a glass of wine. But, I take out only one glass – Glenfiddich 15 year old straight. It’s only me drinking.

10 p.m.
I said I wouldn’t look at old photographs, but I can’t help it. I can’t cry. Not through lack of want, but the tears won’t fall.

11 p.m.
We would be making love, sharing kisses and smiles. But, your side of the bed is cold.

12 a.m.
Your side of the bed can find me staring – aimlessly. It’s still empty and I keep telling myself if I stare at it for long enough, you’ll appear again.

1 a.m.
I can’t sleep.

2 a.m.
I can’t sleep.

3 a.m.
I can’t sleep.

4 a.m.
I’m not restless. I’m numb. I can feel my heart throbbing, wanting to escape from my chest. It wants me to watch as it tears – heartstring by heartstring.

5 a.m.
I’m supposed to wake up, but the truth is that I haven’t slept. No “good morning”. No, “I love you”.