But that's the picture.
A ghost of cadence
A trace of rebellion
A love by the alley,
Rooted by wind & streetlamps
And the poetry of becoming.

Somewhere between cityscape and silence,
Between cracked concrete and the full moon's patience,
My soul scrawled sentences no one else heard.

So I wrote.
And wrote.
Until it all became real.

Opeyeluwa Afolabi