It’s 9:00 a.m. I didn’t feel like getting out of bed. So, although I’ve been awake for close to 3 hours, it’s only now that I step out of the bed. I’ve been tossing and turning and thinking about the missed call I received yesterday. It’s from my dad and we haven’t spoken in a long, long time. A part of me wants to call him, but another part of me says if he really wants to talk he’ll call, eventually. Just like my mom says he will. But I can’t seem to get him out of my mind.

It’s only around 8 o’clock that hunger starts whispering to me., forcing me to forget about the call I missed. I wake up and walk to the kitchen. Whilst preparing something to eat, something catches my eyes: an envelope written “To: Zinzi” in a handwriting I cannot recognise.

The first few lines read: “Zinzi I left. I didn’t tell you I was leaving bcoz I knew that’d break my heart as much as it’d break yours. I love you too, Zinzi.” At this point, I know who the letter is from, but all I’m wondering about is how he knew how I felt about him. I never mustered enough courage to tell Mo how I felt about him because sometimes asking for more can end up in you losing the little that you have. Our friendship, and its continuation, was more important than whatever ideas of a relationship I had. Now this? I thought I was doing a good job hiding my feelings from him.

“I knew how you felt about me. I knew this because I felt it too. I felt it from the very first day we met. I fell in love with you instantaneously when I saw you. You were looking for an apartment and so was I. You were new in this town and so was I. You had travelled kilometres to study Film and the same goes for me.” At this point, I stop to think about the day Mo and I met. We had met at the Student Centre, at the Accommodation Offices. The memory of that day comes back to me and I can hear him saying: “We can share,”

“What…?” my voice louder than I had intended it to be. I mean, we had just met and here’s this guy saying we could share a flat.

“Nothing,” he said and shrugged his shoulders. His face written disappointment all over.

We ended up living just a few doors from each other. This meant that we spent time together as we would go to class and come back together. Now that I think of it, I think this is the time I fell for him…

“It was only after we had spent time together that you realised what I had long realised. You tried fighting it at first; pushing me away, turning down my movie dates, trying your best to show me that my existence in your life was inconsequential, that you’d be better off, with or without me. But I’ve always wondered for how long you would fight it? How long it’d take you to convince your heart that what it wanted was not good for me? How long…

When it did happen (you realising) a lot of things changed. You’d call on me just to check up how I was and our chats would last long past midnight. You wanted to know more about me, what I was doing… I knew then that you had fallen. Love had reached your address, eventually. But it was too late, after the June holidays, just before the protests started on campus… what use was it then to start a relationship knowing very well that we were going to be kilometres apart the coming year? Long distance relationships, as you’d say, never withstand the strain that comes with the distance…

I left. But I leave knowing that love does exist. It is the times our hands brushed as we crossed Mandela Drive. It is the laughter and wine we shared and the movies we watched. The memories. It is the peace of heart and harmony that comes with knowing that someone, somewhere cares more than they should about you and you care just as much for them.
Love always
Mo”

At this point, I’m frustrated. At what? At who? Myself or him? It’s a directionless anger. I’m glued to the chair, unable to move or to think. Could it be possible that I have I lost someone I love because I wasn’t courageous enough to tell him?

ZZ xx