Vincent de Paul - Kenyan Writer
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The last time I saw Maimun
words poured out of me like water squeezed from a sponge.

She covered my mouth with hers
as if to swallow a terrible curse that would come back to afflict us.

“Forget us, forget me,” she said.

Upon us was
the moment of partying—
my heart cracked.

“I will come for you, my moon,” I said.
“I will get you away from your Imam father
Even Allah.”

“Goodbye, my love
I cannot help you with my love.
Forget, my love
I love you more than life itself.”

She shimmered away—

And I was alone.

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