A Love Letter

My love,

The more we are parted the harder it is to convince myself that you exist. Our time together feels like a distant dream. I rack my brain trying to remember how you looked, smelt, and felt; but as if I jumped out of bed to soon my dream escapes me. I could lay down for hours and not fully conjure it back. I see the picture of my life with you, but the details are blurry. I remember the abstracts but not the feeling. I remember weekends at Lake Kivu, but not the feeling of rubbing my wet feet on mossy volcanic rock. I remember visiting the open aired markets, but can not remember the smell of chicken droppings, raw meat, and curry. I remember parties and nights out on the town, but can not remember the touch of your people; my best friends.

As much as I think of our time together as a distant dream; the evidence remains. The scar on my arm, the scarf around my neck, the sorry lump in my throat. I know you exists, for I knew you before I knew myself. Since childhood you wrapped your affection around me and accepted me as your own. I felt at home with you first and thus fell in love with your beauty, humor and compassion for your people and country. You have stood firm through wars famine and disease. You choose not to hold on to the negatives of the past but to focus on your hopes for a better future. I admire your courage and resilience.

I miss you, oh that word sounds so weak to describe the physical burn in my stomach for you. I had acclimated to your way of doing things. I felt secure in knowing how to approach every situation with you. Now apart from you I am lost. Here I have to think twice before every action. The words here are different from your comforting words. Not bad but not the same. Starting over is harder then they say it is. Adjusting to new ways and words can be exhausting. I long for your expected conditions. The unknown can be a frighting thing with out you beside me.

I was the one who left you and broke my own heart. Even though you are oceans away, some how the hope of you stays. That we will be reunited. I will feel you again; the warmth of your son, the smell of your spices and the love of your people. The details are not lost but waiting to be rediscovered.
So wait for me my love, my Africa.

Sincerely Yours,
Sophia Jenkins