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Pragmatic, reserved and a deep thinker who loves family, sports especially football where am married to two wives: the first, AC Milan who has my loyalty and the second wife, Manchester United who has all my undying love and pampering, lifestyle and society parties. Need I say the law is more than a profession but a lifestyle for me.

Adekanye Adeyinka Olajide.

I do it for me

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You are here: Home / , THIS THING CALLED SPACE.



You see this thing called space is really going to be the death of us. Every time you ask for little space, I just want you to know it is going to kill us faster than Ebola is in Liberia. At this rate, we are going to sink this relationship recklessly than the ice did titanic. I really cannot fathom why you have imbibed the spirit of wanting space as if you have been to space and infested with some space disease. It is an able tool, which you have mastered the art of using against me. I must find that woman who started this despicable trend ‘I need some space,’ and make her kill the monster she has created.

This thing called space is better left as an elementary class game where you draw lines to keep your partner from getting his or her spilth at his/her corner. It is not meant for adults like us. Come on, who needs space really? Even space is lamenting the space is getting bigger to fill. You do not understand the damage this is causing; you are not just denting the prospect of love growing but you are taking the honours for shrinking love – now, I do not envy you. Do you not know that love is a seed that thrives in adversity more than in pleasure for it sinks its root farther in difficulties than in ease? Therefore, that space you ask for every time beloved is a sign of your fears, which are eating you deeper than the tapeworm.

Where is the light that shore in your eyes when your heart burnt with the love of Adeyinka? Do not tell me space drowned that too. I thought that love would see us through the furnace rather than tear us apart. It was a love that conquered the consternation. It eased our every trouble away and bred envy in the hearts of our adversaries. Well, that now is history to be told in classes like the Romeo’s tale. I still wonder where the passion that eats you when it comes to loving me went. Is space the culprit still? I hope it took only a stroll and it is not lost in the wilderness because beloved you have become so insipid and cold like the December mornings.

Since you became a space pilot, you have made a haven out of space. You have travelled that route countless times and have now become too accustomed to their ways that you perpetually embellish space. The downturn is that our ways – the ways of human – has become alien to you. At every point, you go into your space cocoon like a snail whose horn is touched. Now I perceive that it is a defence from escaping the wrath that could accrue from your oversight. If not, why will you still invoke this imaginary space when you are put on the spot? You keep letting space drill a hole into this love that it makes reaching you unattainable. When did it become unbearable to share your pains and lift the burden off your heart? When did it become easier to want to be alone and close up like the office when you ought to let the pain evaporate by sharing?

I used to be your refuge from humdrum days. I mean I was the untouchable thing in your life especially when trouble came just like the catholic priest, you confessed to me as if redemption lies in human. I enjoyed the ranting of your weary heart when something pissed you off; you talk to me as if secrets were an abomination. Baby, tell me it was not all my imagination or did I get too superlative about my place? Why does space now enjoy all those benefits that were exclusively mine? Do you not know that this thing called space is boundless? Is there any justice in space taking my place? I am the quantum solace.

Pumpkin you know too well, that I do not go down without a fight. When it comes to taking my spot, I am a phenomenon, something better than Calcius Clay in manila was. I am the epitome of a lover who never lets his beloved slip through only that I am no Jack for we will share the plank so we can live this life together rather than leave you to tell of my heroics. However, it makes me weak when you say I am pushing it. I ask myself “pushing what exactly?”
If it is this thing called space, you better let me push it hard enough off your back off the cliff so that it dies so bad, it will be a lesson to anything that wants to give me a fight when it comes to you. After all, in your presence, I find the splendour of life for my world is beautiful with you in it.