The eviction notice was tucked neatly behind the door handle of my apartment in Lagos, but I didn't open it. I didn't need to. I knew exactly what it said. I knew the rent was three months overdue, and I knew the landlord, Mr. Adeyemi, was done wi...
The letter from my insurance company sat on my kitchen table like a death warrant. "FINAL NOTICE: Policy Cancelled for Non-Payment." I stared at the bold red text, but all I could see was the ghost of the ₦800,000 I’d spent on her new phone...
I learned the exact weight of the carpet fibers against my cheek because that’s where I waited when she told me not to stand. Karina’s door opens like weather. So sudden, pressure change, my lungs forgetting what they’re for, an...
I knew it was pathetic to be eating plain white rice for dinner while I stared at the Western Union receipt on my desk, but the thought of her being stressed about her tuition was a knot in my stomach I couldn't untie. I live my life in a differe...
I knew it was over for me when I checked my phone in the middle of the rain, screen cracked, hands shaking, Lightning danced across the wet glass of my phone, yet my mind raced not to fix it, but to imagine their words appearing on it That’...
I knew it was pathetic to be kneeling on the tiled floor of the café bathroom, scrubbing gum off the sole of her shoe with my thumbnail, but the thought of her wrinkling her nose at the mess and doing it herself was unbearable. It’s ...
When the city shut down, everything became quiet.No cars. No people. Just sirens far away. M. Fischer stayed in my small apartment because it felt safer together. We didn’t plan it. It just happened. She sat on the floor the first night, ea...
They said it was temporary. She asked for help with her rent once. A one-time thing, she said. I said yes. I trusted her. I wanted to help. I didn’t think twice. Then another bill came. Then another. Each time, she thanked me politely. A s...
I never thought I’d be the kind of person who ruins his own career for someone else. But here I am. Her name is Melanie, and she’s the kind of coworker everyone trusts—except she’s not always honest. I found out early, by ...
Every day, I patch things up. Emails she forgot to send. Reports she half-finished. Mistakes she didn’t even realize she made. I fix them before anyone notices. I stay late. I skip lunch. I ignore the tension in my shoulders, the dull ache ...
Every day, I cook for her. Not just any meals. Her favorite meals. The ones she mentioned once in passing, months ago, while laughing about how no one ever remembered them. I remember. I never forget. Chicken adobo on Mondays. Pancit on Wednesday...
He knew he shouldn’t. He knew she had told him clearly: “I’m not interested, okay?” But every time she posted a photo, he hovered. Every post, every story, every fleeting moment of her online life became a ...
The notes app on my phone is full of her. Not messages—drafts. Lines written at 2:14 a.m. Lines written on buses, in waiting rooms, during moments when I should’ve been paying attention to my own life. Every poem has h...
My name is Rafael, and I’m from Mexico. I write poems for her. Not the kind you post publicly. Not the kind that gets likes or applause. I write them in quiet moments—late at night, early mornings, whenever her name crosses my mind a...
My name is Tomas, and I’m from Brazil. She loved her dog more than anything. Everyone knew that. Whenever she talked about her problems, they always came back to him—vet visits, medicine, late nights when he wouldn’t eat. I list...
