My eyes open, and the pinch of the sun dawning on my broken heart stings harder than it did two weeks ago; the sting gets stronger each time I wake up from sleep. I’ve felt like placing my heart in a freezer the past few days. It’s been pumping blood into my veins, giving me life all my days, but these last few days, it’s been bleeding with pain. The sound of the taxis and the loud Braam streets yank me out of my rumination. I take a step out onto the tiled floor from my bed, and the cold coming from the tiles hits my barefeet with an icy slap of reality. I remember that the ground still holds me. As I approach the kitchen, about to fix myself a bowl of post-nap noodles, the sunset outside the window wells tears into my eyes. The heartache of a breakup has a way of filling your whole body, especially when you’re looking at a sunset, brushing your teeth, waiting for the microwave oven to finish, or doing anything that your brain associates with your ex. And today, when I look at this sunset, I remember all of mine and Sechaba’s big Joburg dreams, which are crumbling down to the nothingness they now are.
The first time we heard Just Bheki’s “Akabambeki,” we were so in love, we have always been so in love, but that year, we had just arrived in Johannesburg to pursue our degrees and create the lives we had spent years dreaming about. I had been asking that we go to the Untitled Basement to experience the weekly soul session nights, and as we sat waiting for the live acts to perform, they were playing the song that would now hold our deepest, most beautiful moments. On the first beat drop of that song when we heard it, we looked into each other’s eyes, as we’d often do when we were experiencing moments of telepathy; that type of gaze into each other’s eyes was one of our favourite things to do. In that gaze, we made space for our souls to meet and touch in this shared consciousness we seemed to experience, especially when it came to our tastes. All we kept saying as we listened to the song was “this is soooo good,” while I watched as he did that sexy headbob thing he does when he’s enjoying good music. Those were the type of moments I often felt myself get lost in, watching him being himself as we listened to good music; sometimes the goodness of the moment would overwhelm me so much I’d get teary, just as I did that night at the Untitled Basement.
Now, this was my heartbreak song. Our favourite song, the song we had decided would be the soundtrack to our wedding Instagram reel, was now my heartbreak song. It brought me a lot of comfort, an obvious tearjerker because of its significance, and a reassuring sound that helped me remember this love with the beauty it deserved to be remembered in. Sechaba sunk most of my fears; life with him felt like that saying: “the world is your oyster”. His unbreakable spirit, his strength, coupled with his ability to ground me, no matter the situation, always made me feel like I could fly to any cloud, the ninth one or even the furthest one, high up near my dreams. Mme would always tell me how hard Sechaba had it before he moved in with his aunt and grandfather. When we were children, he was always so great at everything; if he wasn’t the neighbourhood’s resident soccer star, he was the maths wizz in each grade – always so impressive, always so full of life and hope. He used to say this song reminds him of his brother, who did everything to try give them a better life from the day they left Lesotho to try find better opportunities in Gauteng.
When I listened to it, each time I missed him during the day, and those were many times, it gave me hope that we could one day be together again. Hurting over losing what Sechaba and I shared is painful. I don’t understand how he can turn his back on something so pure, something so deeply beautiful and anchoring to our lives. All of this, and I still can’t bring myself to hate him, and I fear I won’t be able to let him go anytime soon or open my heart up to anyone else. How do I give someone else a heart that has him engraved on it, or better yet, how do I remove this engraving? And if He is engraved on mine and me on His, how exactly does Sechaba think I’ll survive this? I’ve seen him carry me through my hardest moments; he and Mme share the sweetest relationship, one that’s built on a history of hardships. When Sechaba used to carry me on his chest before we slept, giving the rivers of my mind a place to rest into, when he used to hold me so tight that I’d finally find a wink of sleep from my raging anxiety – I used to feel like he was the only person who cared about me. Where did all that care go when he ended things the way he did with no solid explanation?
Eating my noodles through these sour tears and swallowing softly so I don’t have to cause further ache to my insides on a Wednesday evening is not the university dream I had in mind. What will I tell Mme, and how long will I keep crying so hard for a boy!?
[This Week’s blog is the first instalment of the 4-part February love story series. The series features a collection of fictional stories inspired by love songs, celebrating February as the month of love.]
Muse Journal 
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