At 19, you were obsessed with Kunle, the dark skinned boy with easy laughter. It all seemed natural to you, to want Kunle so bad. Why shouldn’t you? Laughter poured out of his mouth so easily, like the gushing water from the ikogosi spring in your hometown. His laughter was pleasantry close to home; a sort of kindness was foreign. You stole glances whenever he was close by. Would stare when you were sure he wasn’t looking. He was like your father, not exactly, in a way you couldn’t place a finger on. Kunle caught you staring once; he looked back at you and smiled.

What filled the mouth of men with easy laughter? You vowed to someday laugh long and proud like gushing water.



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