1:11

At the dead of the night

I struggle with quotidian thoughts

of you, as my Nigeria

and me, Cameroon

The trivial thought of you existing

in the same space as me

triggers hormones in my ocular area

The prospect of waiting six weeks

till we can feel, till we are one

molests me at night

eerie

but i simply can not stop thinking of you, of us

I’m on a train

where i happen to find it best to write these days

I’m pouring out my 1:11 a.m thoughts

on this phone

that i can not even trust

because every time

i pick it up

i find myself sending messages

to you

“are you fine” “are you safe”

I miss you

I miss us

I miss home

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