Thread by @lewis_ngunyi

I bought this comb on my way to see her. It was the first time I was visiting. She lived far, flung out away from civilization. I hadn't known about rogue matatus back then. They made a 6 hour journey take exactly 12 hours. I was exhausted!

I found her waiting patiently for me. She told me to go shower as she warmed food. I had been working about 16 hours every day that week, on top of 2 hours spent on commute.

We were still getting to know each other, and it was my first time at her place. Things were tense.

She had brown eyes, and always looked directly into mine. She was tall, and had long, puffy hair. Very gentle in everything she did. Very calm, collected, stable.

She would one day tell me, "I don't think there's anything you can't solve". I could've married her that day.

She would have followed me to war. To hell and back. To the ends of the world, through storms, high seas and dry deserts. She was fierce, but you'd never see it. Slightly impatient, but never with me.

We were obsessed with each other. Completely and exclusively.

Then distance came.
Covid and a few other adulting commitments.

"As long as the bed shakes regularly, the home is at peace" _African proverb.

The bed stopped shaking. Not for want, but from circumstances far beyond both of our control.

I hate long distance relationships. Communication is reduced to texts and calls that leave no room for tone. How you say, "I just need time to process this, okay?" leaves tons of room for interpretation when it's on text. Tone is misunderstood, and now there's more to deal with.

You can only deal with issues virtually for so long. Eventually you decide that this person is committed to misunderstanding you and you stop communicating. We never fought in person. Always on phone.

You allow phone issues to simmer long enough, they become in-person issues

The day she finally came, I was probably already done. I tried to find something inside me to get back to that state of bliss we once had but couldn't. The more I tried, the more I resented it. She was also set in her ways and was a bit more rigid this time round. It was over.

The other day we talked. She said she'd decided to put herself out there. It was so unlike her. She was in a talking stage. Immediately I wanted her back, almost to a point of losing my mind. It was the thought of her being with someone else, though, that bugged me.

It wasn't her that I wanted. It was the prevention of her sharing what we had with someone else. But I've noticed that what we shared can't be had by anyone else. Nobody can take that from us. That was, and will forever belong to us.

She might find better men (highly unlikely, because I'm really dope) and that's okay. She will make memories with them, better and longer even, and probably even raise a family together. She'll absolutely make a great wife and mother, eventually, but not for me and my kids.

I will occasionally miss her brown eyes, her scent, her hair, her brows, her laughter, her skin, her tiny teeth, and how gracefully she did her things. But I won't try and exploit the bond we have to keep her from getting a life she wants that I obviously can't give her anymore.

This is an ode to love. Its fleeting nature and our role, not in holding it, but letting it flow through us. And when it finds an outlet, we must let it keep flowing. It could be a book, or a song, or a dream, but you must let go of the desire to hold on to, direct, or control it

Right...back to the comb.
I have always kept this comb in the inner pocket of my jacket everyday since. I never leave it anywhere, and I have never lost it. Which means I have almost always had a jacket with me everywhere.

One of the tines broke a while ago as I played a fake drum set on my table. A few people have offered to get me a new one but I've always insisted, "No, I'd need to break one tine" and when I couldn't find my comb one day, I bought a new one and...I actually broke that last tine.

I will keep the comb for a bit longer. I eventually loved it for it, and not for what it represented. I don't even know what exactly it did represent, but I know who. And that one, she deserves all the good things life has to offer.

Just to dispel any potential confusion, I'd like to let my readers know that this was a story about a comb, so I will be taking questions about the comb, and only the comb.

Thanks.