Insight of a Kenyan Girl

His eyes sparkled every time he smiled, that irresistible, charming smile. But it wasn’t just the smile that captivated me. His eyes, always observant, constantly analyzed situations, quietly observing the world, and silently judging everyone in it. There was a hidden depth behind them—something both alluring and terrifying.

He was the perfect man. At least, the perfect man who should have been mine. I loved him. I still do. And he claimed to love me too, but that love, as beautiful and painful as it was, wasn’t enough. He couldn’t be with me—not for lack of wanting, but because he feared that being with me would eventually break us. And the irony? I was the one with the history of self-sabotage, the one who pushed love away before it could break me.

I clung to my feelings for him. His scent lingered in my memory, something so intimately familiar that it still made my heart race. The mere thought of him sends chills through me, stirring a quiet storm of emotions. He saved me from some of my deepest fears and phobias. But in return, he also broke me, piece by piece, bit by bit. He was my savior, but somehow, he became my tormentor.

He enjoyed the control he had over me, his grip tight, yet invisible. He loved me—of that, I am certain—but it was his love, twisted and distorted, unable to exist freely, bound by his own limitations. He wanted me, but only on his terms. He wouldn’t let me have him, and he wouldn’t let me go. The tug-of-war between us was endless, and in my heart, the line between love and hatred blurred beyond recognition. How could I hate him when every fiber of my being ached for him? How could I? All my heart knew was him.

I wish we had had the chance to be something real, even if it meant breaking us both in the end. It would have been worth the try. At least, that’s what I tell myself. But then again, this must be the hurt speaking—the irrationality that takes over when it comes to him.

But the truth is, I can’t keep living like this. I can’t keep drowning in a love that never allows me to surface. I can’t keep existing in this limbo, where I’m tethered to him but never truly free. So, I’ve chosen to run. Perhaps in another life, another version of us, things would be different. Perhaps fate will be kinder then.

For now, I’m running, leaving behind a love that was never meant to be. And though I’m letting go, part of me will always wonder—what if? What if we could have been? What if love could have been enough? But fate, as always, is cruel.