FJ cruiser

“I did not touch you to answer to my instinct.
I caressed your fingers gently as if I am handling a rose.
I wanted to deliver a message.
I wanted to speak to you in ways no one has.
I wanted to feel you in ways no one has.
To kiss you, not with my lips but through my heart.”
_NF

The Tallest Problem”

Before him stood the urinal,
A giant on the wall
And there he stood, confused and stuck,
Feeling way too small.

He scratched his head in quiet pain,
In deep and sad frustration,
Wondering why life always sends
These awkward situations.

With courage high, he took his stand,
Though hope was running low…
For some things life will place too high,
No matter how you grow.

Yet still he sighed and whispered soft,
As God dey see me so…
For even in the restroom stall,
A man must face his woe.

A little laugh, a little cry
This moment says it all
Not every battle is in life…
Some battles are on the wall. 😄

Life is a river, wild and wide,
It twists and turns with every tide.
Some days calm, some full of storm,
Yet each new dawn takes a different form.

Dreams are seeds the heart must sow,
Through sun or rain, they learn to grow.
Fall a hundred times, rise once more,
For strength is built upon the floor.

Love the journey, not the race,
Each scar a story, each tear, grace.
For in the end, when all is done,
Life’s not the goal, it’s how you run.

The Box Beneath the Bed”

When Sarah’s father died, she didn’t cry.
Not at the hospital.
Not at the funeral.
Not even when the last handful of dirt hit his coffin.

She had promised herself years ago that she’d never shed another tear for him.

He had left when she was fifteen walked out on her, her little brother Noah, and their mother. No explanations. No goodbyes. Just a note on the kitchen table that said, “I can’t do this anymore.”

For fifteen years, Sarah carried that wound like armor. Whenever someone brought up “family,” she changed the subject. Whenever Noah tried to talk about “Dad,” she’d shut him down with a glare.

Then, after the funeral, her mother asked her to clean out his old storage unit. “He kept some of your things there,” she’d said softly.

Sarah didn’t want to go. But Noah insisted. So one rainy Saturday, they drove to the edge of town and unlocked the rusted door.

Inside were boxes dusty, forgotten, and unlabeled.

Most were filled with old tools, books, and broken memories. But in the corner, under a faded blanket, was a small wooden chest. On top of it, a note in her father’s handwriting:

“For Sarah. When you’re ready.”

Her stomach twisted. But curiosity won.

Inside were letters. Dozens of them. All dated after the day he left.

The first one was written just a week after he’d walked out.

> “Sarah, I know you’ll never forgive me. I don’t expect you to. But I hope one day you’ll understand. I didn’t leave because I stopped loving you. I left because I didn’t want you to see me destroy myself.”

Her throat tightened.

The next letter was longer. The writing shakier.

> “Your mom told me you made the debate team. I wanted to be there. I sat in the back of the auditorium, but I left before it started. I didn’t want to ruin your night.”

She froze.
She remembered that night.
The strange feeling she’d had like someone was watching her.

Letter after letter, year after year, he wrote.

He talked about his struggles with drinking. About the rehab centers. About how he’d try to get clean, then fail again.
But always, every letter ended the same way:

“I’m proud of you. Even from afar.”

Sarah’s tears finally came. Fifteen years of anger dissolved into grief she didn’t know how to hold.

At the bottom of the box was a flash drive. She plugged it into her laptop, and an old video began to play.

Her father sat on a hospital bed, thinner now, his voice weak but steady.

> “If you’re watching this, I didn’t make it. I wanted to tell you this in person, but I ran out of time. I’m sorry for every moment I missed. I never stopped loving you, Sarah. I just didn’t know how to stay.”

The screen faded to black.

For the first time in fifteen years, Sarah whispered the word she hadn’t said since she was a teenager:

“Dad.”

Noah put his arm around her. “He tried, Sarah,” he said quietly. “In his own broken way, he tried.”

They took the box home. Spent the night reading his letters aloud. Laughing at his bad jokes, crying over his regrets, forgiving what they could.

A week later, Sarah wrote her first letter in years.

“Dear Dad,
I hated you for so long. I thought you stopped loving me. But now I see you were just human. Flawed, scared, and trying.
I forgive you. And I hope, wherever you are, you finally forgive yourself.”

She buried the letter under the old oak tree in their backyard the same tree where he used to push her on the swing.

Months passed. Sarah started volunteering at a support group for families of addicts. She shared her story once, trembling at first but when she finished, people clapped. Some cried.

Afterward, a young man came up to her.
“I haven’t spoken to my dad in years,” he said. “But I think I’ll call him tonight.”

Sarah smiled. “Do it,” she said. “Don’t wait for a box of letters.”

Because sometimes, forgiveness doesn’t change the past
but it heals what the past broke.

What If Love Is Your Friend 🌹
(A piece straight from my heart)

What if love is your friend,
Not a storm to fight or end?
Not a fire that burns to ash,
But a sunrise soft, divine, and fresh.

What if love doesn’t rush or fade,
But waits in silence, unafraid?
Not seeking to conquer or to win,
But to dwell gently deep within.

What if love is not what you chase,
But the calm that fills your space?
A sacred whisper, pure and kind,
The echo of peace in heart and mind.

What if love is the breath you take,
The stillness between each ache?
A gift unseen, yet always near
The voice that says, “I am here.”

Then you would see, in every end,
Love was never lost, my friend.
It only changes shape, not soul
Still guiding you… still making you whole.

✍🏽 Ediong Aniebok