My last Nigerian date: the deepest love story I never told.

To be honest, sometimes, I find myself running from this space. It feels tarnished; stained. As if it is the space where I come to reveal my dirty secrets. It feels blemished, but even more so. It reads like a broken record to me; one that repeats thesame things over, and over , and all over again: it is the soundtrack of my numerous broken love-xxx-periences. After a while, Jim's whistle starts to sound just like James', and Tommy's letdown starts to feel like Khalid's.

Eventually, they all sound thesame.

I seem to have a weakness for weakmen.

So sometimes, I dont bother coming here to write. Why should I, when whatever I wanted to write, would've already been written about some next dude, anyway?

So I stall my words, and dont bother mentioning about that last dude who took my heart to the center of the world, and got caught up in his own clouds, that he forgot to bring it back.

When I asked for my heart back, he simply grinned, wiped the tears off his brows, and dropped it in a sea of dares.

Ha!

But there is life after lost love, see? I have proved that more than once before. I proved it again, to this one.

"I loved you with my heart, yes, but no one ever said that I couldnt get myself a transplant".

I walked away, I did. And as I ran to sanctuary, I heard him calling out to me. He called me all sorts of names that weaklings call female beings.

I am worthless.
I am not intelligent.
I am not beautiful.
And among all these, I am also worthless.

This said after I took the role of editor to his schoolwork, the role of aesthetitian to his life, and brought him value from within me.

Yet, he claimed I had no worth to him.

When he called me days later to apologise for having said what he said, I told him that he did not have to; I had forgiven him even before he cursed at me. I was not willing to let him hold me captive. Thus, I had forgiven, and was freed.

That was the story of the strongest love I have felt thus far this year, but even more so, really, it was the story of my conclusion with men of his kind: it is time that I'm done with dealing with these men's weaknesses.

I remembered thinking as he cursed at me : "wow, he says thesame things my other Nigerian exes said". Its almost like they all read thesame "book of cursewords", took thesame "how to curse a woman when she leaves 101" class, and were taught by thesame teacher.

No other man from any other country has ever cursed me like that. Nigerian men, always do, when I am ready to leave.

This man has a position in my life, for sure. He is the last Nigerian man I will ever date.