It feels crazy to even think that I’m writing this letter to you today. Silly much? It’s weird even because it’s been three months since I last laid eyes on you. Do you even remember me? Of course not. I’m just another admirer’s face.
I recall someone telling me, once, that I should study hard and not focus so much on the things of this world. That the beautiful ones had yet been brought into existence. Too many fish in the sea sermon. All that. But when I saw you for what I believe was the first and last time, you seemed to nullify those beliefs. Maybe, and it’s just maybe, there is that many fish, but one for everyone. And I am sure you are mine.
I remember quite vividly the faded white leather that wrapped itself around your sleek body. Look how you rocked leather like it’s a skill taught to you at birth. The bold black stripes that ran along your curves, meticulously! The tug I felt in my heart as I slowed down and blinked twice to confirm you were truly there and not just a fragment of my overactive imagination.
I’m not often hesitant to do what I want. I see it, I like it, I want it, I go get it. Grande style. But at that moment I was, and what surprises me till now, is that I didn’t feel bad about it now. I for sure wanted to come closer, maybe have a sniff at your scent, and perhaps even touch you. I pictured you smelling fresh. Unused. Pure. I wanted to ask the tall dark guy whose large shadow blocked the sun from scorching you, whether he had already claimed you because of the similar longing eyes he was looking at you with or whether you were still available. Come to think of it, he wasn’t that tall, maybe an inch or two, of which I’m sure I have compensated somewhere else. I believe you would have given me a chance. I tell myself this to sleep peacefully.
One thing about me, at least from the time before I saw you, I wasn’t that much of a trailblazer. I was always trying to fit in. Imposter syndrome. Following the trend. That is actually why I was reluctant to approach you, as I’ve come to learn and accept. I feared the banter that would result from me being seen with a ‘kienyeji’, let alone admiring one. I’m not saying you are kienyeji, but words hurt, and my friends have a lot of those.
All of this doesn’t matter now, does it? After all, this letter will never reach you, and if it does, will you even know it was me who sent it? I wanted to commit this memory to paper so I’d never had to live with the pain of forgetting. Forgetting you. Forgetting how you looked. Forgetting how you made me feel. Nobody really forgets their first, right?
As I conclude, I want you to know I found your cousin the other day. I think she is your cousin. Maybe she’s not, but there’s a striking resemblance. I like her, but she is not you. Every time I see her at my doorstep, every time I run my fingers against her beautiful exotic black curves- when I see her from a distance, my heart skips a beat, and I remember you.
My only wish is that I could have faced my fear and reached out to you. Maybe even held you in my hands. I wouldn’t be stranded right now with an extra khaki and lacking a matching shoe. I hope whoever has you treats you well, just like I treat your cousin.
Goodbye, my Adidudas. By the way, your cousin is called Adidas. Even your names are alike!
Yours truly, A Kienyeji lover.