The Pitcher of Love…
If there was anything I really did regret, it was falling. Not just falling, but falling hard and breaking the pitcher where I kept my brains. The pitcher was always easy to find, when I was ready to use my brains and lock my heart somewhere it wouldn’t be found.
Now that the pitcher is broken. I feel like I’ve lost everything but the love that filled my lungs, the love replaced the blood in my body. The love replaced my life with an even fancier pitcher, but this time, love filled the pitcher, to the brim.
The love turned into what I never thought about, it became me. The love became me.
The love would make me twirl and leave me floating for hours in my imagination. These days, I’d smile at little stupid things. I’d wave at the kids running around with torn underpants and mouth stained with dirty brown chocolate.
I suddenly found the whistling down the street very funny. I’d walk a reasonable distance away from the whistling then burst into laughter.
I found myself smiling at the boy I’d always felt was a bug. I didn’t mind his chattering this time, he found it surprising but he kept talking. He talked about the girls who loved him but avoided him like a disease, I laughed hard at the rich bully who got turned down by the same girl who sent him a love letter few days ago.
These days I don’t worry about what to wear and what not to wear, because everything looked beautiful to him. He complements even the watch I got as a souvenir from my grandma. The watch was a dull faded brown, and I almost laughed out loud when he said it was beautiful, until I looked closely at his warm eyes and I realized he meant it. My eyes got wet and I just couldn’t believe it. His hugs weren’t just hugs they were actually love in disguise.
He’d take my hands in the street and scream out my name when we’re surrounded by people.
I selfishly wished God would scrape mornings and afternoons, and let us just live with evenings, because evening walks with him isn’t something I’d want to give out for anything.
We’d lie under the sun and envision our wedding on the sea. Just us. Even three is a crowd. We’d sketch our sitting room and agreed our bedroom would be a safe haven. They’ll be a fireplace and a view of the blue sea. I laughed aloud when he said we’d sleep on the river bank when the waves are mild, and though it filled me with dread, I didn’t show it. I mean, waves are never mild. They’re all the same. I lost a cousin to the cold hands of the sea, sometime last year, so I’m not excited about any future plan revolving around the sea.
The day it came to an end, I felt it before it happened and I cried to God, to whoever listened, I didn’t want it to end. When it finally ended, more tears couldn’t come, because I’d given all of it the moment I felt it.
I’d always known it was so good to be true.
The pitcher broke.
The pitcher couldn’t last.
Love poured out in black oily substance. I couldn’t keep the pitcher that kept me alive.
The pitcher broke.
I couldn’t find a new pitcher. I was comfortable in my emptiness. A black, angry kind of comfortable. No other pitcher is worth coming close to my life. I’d make sure every other kind of pitcher stays out. I’d find the broken pieces of the pitcher which housed my brain, and I’d live with that.
I felt something better coming. I cried again, harder than I cried when my previous pitcher broke. I couldn’t deal with another pitcher. I couldn’t deal with brokenness again. Please let my walls stay high. Whoever I begged didn’t listen, maybe because I really did need a brand new pitcher, instead of a fixed one.
This one didn’t come fancier. It came stronger and even more reliable. It came with a bold GOD inscribed on its brown body. How long would this last? I closed every entrance. I couldn’t give this new pitcher a chance inside. It’s way better than the previous, and it’ll kill me if it gets broken.
News came. This pitcher doesn’t break. This pitcher is safe and reliable. I scoffed. That was what I thought of the previous ones, and they got shattered. How do they even get broken without my permission? I really don’t know.
Someone said this one is different, because it can only get broken when I allow it. It doesn’t just break.
I was tired of running around, so I let this new pitcher in. The change scared and thrilled me. It came with a blend of beauty, love and wisdom. Now I can love and be wise about it. Now I can be wise and still create space for love.
Maybe this won’t get broken after all, because I’m a jewel to the creator of such a pitcher.
Maybe this won’t break at all, because you’re a jewel to the Creator.
Joy Uchenaya
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