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Inbetween 41

It was enough torture that I had to pass Tunde's office every morning to get to mine. The only good thing was that I knew he would not be sitting behind his desk inside there. It was always locked. 

I got a gift in his absence, a painting of me. 

" Mo nife re," the accompanying note read. 

In the painting , I was lying down with my eyes closed . I could not remember the moment he took the picture but it was me. He lined my lips perfectly that I could not even doubt.  I missed him.  I called when I  saw the painting. The call was filled with little talks and awkward silence so I was in a hurry to end it. 

Sometimes while I lay in bed before my eyelids close in tiredness, I remember the moments I spent with him, the ones I held close and locked away. I  knew that he must have felt bad,  maybe even concluded that I was immature but I knew myself, I could not watch him 

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