Six foot tall, pitch black skin, a connecting beard and muscles for Africa.
I am by no means a tiny woman and he is still the only man to have ever physically picked me up and not sound like he is having an Asthma attack.
He is definitely a legitimate ex, an ex I am not ashamed to own up to.
An ex that didn’t have to be an ex.
If only he didn’t do what he did that day.
But he did and it changed everything forever.
Yet to this very day I still don’t know why he did what he did that day.
No two days were ever the same with this man, he had thee most creative spirit my soul ever collided with.
Introduced me to adventure activities like hiking, quadbiking and bungee jumping, yet we never had to use money to ever have fun together.
One day we did pencil crayon drawings of each other.
They were more pathetic than your toddler’s impression of her favourite superhero, but I still have the drawing he did of me hung and framed on my lounge wall.
My boyfriend thinks it was done by my five year old nephew that died of bone marrow cancer shortly afterwards.
In many ways he was a five year old; curious mind that never stopped questioning and exploring.
And our love might as well have died of cancer the day he did what he did what he did.
But to this very day I still don’t know why he did what he did that day.
I have slept with many men, some whose names I don’t even know.
I have dated many men, some whose time I did not even have.
But I have only one ex.
One that neither wrote me poetry nor cooked for me or bought me flowers, but one that would kick his friends out of his flat and tell them not to come the whole weekend because his woman is visiting.
An ex that didn’t compel me to be friends with his friends’ girlfriends while hanging out at car washes and braais pretending to be one happy family.
An ex that embraced the introvert in me.
But still an ex that one day shattered my whole life into a million and one pieces.
An ex that did it and carried on with life as though nothing had happened.
To this very day I still don’t know why he did what he did that day.
A fashionista of note, he indulged the vain little girl in me when he would insist we wear matching outfits.
The two years we spent together I got in the habit of shopping for two.
A habit I never got to break.
A habit my boyfriend is grateful for.
A habit he knows no origins of.
He is just happy I have matching scarves for all his ties and all our perfumes have a coordinated masculine and feminine scents that compliment each other.
My boyfriend is all nice things e-wallets, full tanks and black credit card powered shopping sprees are made of, but I would rather have all that with another.
The Another whose actions killed the naive, gullible and optimistic girl I once was and gave rise to a more practical, ready-for-whatever woman I am today.
The Another that fucked shit up one day
The Another that to this very day I still don’t know why he did what he did that day.
A foodie that can’t cook, but appreciates not only good food but fine wine and cheese too.
Took me from the company of Cousins with roses in the streets and introduced me to a world of Shiraz and Pinotages.
Schooled as a spoon girl, graduated to a fork and knife lady and climbed the corporate ladder a chopsticks madame.
Each time I would squirm at the thought of ordering some strange sea creature I thought did not belong in my precious Mac painted mouth he would hold my right hand and pull up my sleeve to reveal a tattoo of a pulse he and I had done together to remind us we will not only exist but live to the fullest.
Lived he and I did alright, but not together forever as I had hoped.
Because one day he woke up a person I didn’t know.
And then he did it.
And it broke us apart.
And to this very day I still don’t know why he did what he did that day.
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