She always had to ask if he loved her, and he often replied with a “yeah, yeah, love you, sure I do. Why do you keep asking?”
She was looking for the Àjọkẹ́, s’ó n gbọ́ mi? Mo nífẹ̀ẹ́ rẹ. The I am in love with you that was often said with a soft voice and a pleading gaze; it was what she was used to, what she had taken for granted. It was what she really wanted.
She hated herself for hurting a man who used to declare his love for her ever so often, sometimes with tears in his eyes, because he did so.
