She had always known how to love.

It came naturally to her as breathing. Why? Because she’s human. She loved gently. Fully. Without keeping score.

She loved in the small ways and in the grand ones, with patience, with softness, with a quiet devotion that asked for little and offered much. Loving was not something she learned; it was something she was. To love was her nature, because of that, she loved deeply.

And perhaps, that was why she loved the Beast.

Not suddenly, not recklessly, but slowly. It made her feel calm when the world felt loud. With the Beast, there was calm. There was joy. It brought a strange euphoria, a sense of being held even when nothing was certain. In its presence, the noise quieted, and for a while, she felt safe. For a moment, she felt whole.

But even then, she knew.

She knew the beast was dangerous. She knew by the bruises that were not always visible, by the tiredness that lingered longer than it should. She knew by the way her world grew smaller, quieter, narrower. She saw the shadows beneath the calm, the harm hidden inside the comfort. Others saw it too. Some spoke. Some warned. Some watched in silence. But no one knew it the way she did.

She did not love the Beast because she was blind. She loved it because she was human.

She saw the harm clearly. She understood the damage, the slow erosion, the way it was changing her from the inside out. She knew it was bad for her. She knew it would cost her something, maybe everything. Still, she stayed.

Because love, for her, was not a choice. It was an instinct, a need, a rhythm she could not stop. The Beast was wrong for her. Even when her heart thumped in warning, even when her body recoiled from what it knew, even when the world called it a mistake, she lingered. She lingered in the calm. She lingered in the euphoria. She lingered because she could not help it.

Because loving, for her, was not a decision. It was an instinct. A reflex. A truth.

There were moments when she tried to leave. Moments when clarity rose like light, when she imagined a life untouched by this beast she loved. But even then, the memory of the calm would pull her back. The way it made her feel safe. The way it made her feel alive. The way it made her feel loved, even if that love came with teeth.

And yet, she loved anyway.

Not because she was weak. Not because she did not see. But because to love deeply is the most human thing there is. And to stop loving what one loves feels sometimes, like a greater death.

So she remained. Gentle, aware, aching. Holding onto this beast that was slowly unmaking her, simply because her heart knew no other language.

And perhaps that is what love truly is.
Not always salvation. Not always safety.
But recognition.
Love becomes a gift and a curse.

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What became of the dreamer?

What became of the curiosity; the wild, untamed fire of childhood, the restless urge to explore, the certainty that the world was his to shape? When did it all begin to fade?

Where is the dreamer? The one with ideas spilling over, the restless, inquisitive? How quickly he has grown, how quickly he has learned that survival is the prize. The world pressed its weight upon him, and somewhere along the way, the dreamer began to vanish. O what became of the dreamer?

When did fear of failure become safer than risk? When did “enough” replace the hunger for more? When did the ribbon-wrapped path feel easier than the unknown horizon calling in the dark? When did living become enduring? O, what became of the dreamer?

The quiet dissatisfaction, the endless routines, the responsibilities that drain more than they give; they all whisper questions he cannot escape:

“Who am I, really?”

“What gives me peace?”

“What strips the noise away and leaves a smile on my wretched face, even if only for a breath?”

“When did I stop listening to the voices?”

“WHO AM I?”

O, what became of the dreamer?

Yet even in the silence, a spark stirs. A quiet rebellion takes root, a defiance not to be defined by norms. A decision to give the child a voice again. To question the unwritten rules. To dream in the face of realists. To set sail in a world of land-men. To hunt where the fields say he does not belong. To ride the tide where no boat should go.

And when the curtain falls, when he takes his final bow, he will not go quietly. He will go mouthing the lyric of My Way by Frank Sinatra; burning and unashamed.

The dreamer lives.

LOVE. The word that holds the weight of a thousand emotions. The power to heal, yet causes so much hurt. The word that brightens the darkest days, the word that softens even the hardest hearts, the 4 letter word everyone craves for. Love, the force that makes us long for home. The 4 letter word that knows no age, race, class, title, religion, and belief.

To be loved is the greatest privilege of life — a quiet miracle we often take for granted. From the moment we enter into this world, love surrounds us. It comes in many forms, from the gentle care of parents to the unwavering support of siblings, the care of families, the laughter shared with friends, and the warmth of a lover’s embrace. Love wraps itself around us in ways we don’t always recognize, yet it is there, holding us together, reminding us that we are seen, valued, and cherished. Indeed love encompass all things.

Love is courage. It is the steady hand that lifts us when we fall, the voice that whispers strength when we falter reassuring us that we are never truly alone. It is in the whispered words of encouragement, the selfless sacrifices, the hands that reach for ours in times of doubt. To be loved is to be given wings, to be reminded that we are cherished, and that no matter how fragile we may feel, someone believe in us.

Yet, even more profound than being loved is the ability to love. It is love that makes us truly human. To love is to give without expectation, to see beauty in another’s existence, to choose kindness even when it asks for nothing in return. Love flows from us as effortlessly as breath, as instinctively as hope. “We like because, but we love despite.” And when love is returned — when it meets us with the same depth and sincerity, it becomes life’s most exquisite reward.

Love is a privilege — one we must never take for granted. To be known, to be cared for, to have people in our lives who see us and hold us close is a rare and beautiful gift. Let us not wait for a perfect moment to express our love, for love thrives in the now. Let us love who we love with all that we are, showing them, in both words and actions, how much they mean to us. For we never know what tomorrow holds.

What a privilege it is to love, and to be loved.

This work was rephrased using an AI tool to emulate a poetic tone.

This post was imported from Medium.

The year two thousand and twenty-four. O, what a year it hath been!

An era most intriguing and perplexing, filled with turmoil, fluctuations, and astonishing reversals.

Events unfolded that none could have foreseen, rendering it an overwhelming epoch.

O, what a year!

In Nigeria, my noble motherland, the populace strove amidst severe trials.

Many did remark that her citizens deserved a Guinness record for enduring such a year in this realm.

They lauded themselves for standing resilient against ill fortune.

The once-prosperous fell from their high estate, now dwelling among the middling sort, compelled to husband their means with prudent care.

The people marveled at the wonders of this age. 2024 in Review

O, what a year!

Yet, amidst all, it was a good year for some; achievements were made, dreams realized, goals attained.

An interesting year indeed.

O, what a year!

In the year of our realm two thousand and twenty-four, I bore witness to manifold experiences, both triumphant and trying.

I attained the goals I had set forth, yet found myself in unforeseen predicaments, from which I emerged unscathed.

O, what a year!

It was a good year.

In reflection, I accomplished my aims, forged new bonds, encountered souls whose acquaintance I cherish till tis day, undertook endeavors that filled me with great excitement, and partook in learning, experiencing, observing, appreciating, and truly living.

O, what a year!

Yet, amidst the joy and excitement, there were moments of despondency.

Despite achieving my set goals, I grappled with feelings of unfulfillment, as though naught had been accomplished.

Though I acquired new knowledge and undertook various endeavors, a sense of squandered time and misused opportunities lingered.

Even with successes in my vocation and personal projects, I felt a lack of sufficient knowledge and experience.

Despite all, such sentiments persist.

O, what a year!

As the curtains of the year 2024 draw to a close, the gates of 2025 open wide before us. Reflecting upon the past, we exclaim, “O, what a year!” Looking forward, we behold a promising future — a fertile year, with soil awaiting the plough, seeds yearning to be sown, plants seeking to be watered, lives hoping to be lived, words waiting to be said and opportunities ripe for the taking.

For some, the harvest awaits, spoils ready to be gathered, winnings to be bagged, and bounties to be collected. Whether it be a time to sow or a time to reap, let us make the most of the coming year.

As the Chinese Bard wisely penned, “The best time to plant a tree was 20 years ago. The second best time is now.” Chinese Proverb

Thus, let us seize the moment, for the second-best time is now.

O, two thousand twenty-five, what dost thou hold in store for me?

I shall endeavor to make the best of thee, caressing thy every part to extract all the goodness thou hast to offer.

Each moment with thee will be cherished, as thou dost embrace me with thy warmth and glory, concealing thy less comely aspects.

I yearn to experience the promising and fulfilling facets of thy tender being, Eager to behold the splendor of thy bosom.

Together, we shall revel in the euphoria of mutual comfort, delighting in thy riches and benevolence.

O, 2025, how patiently I await our union.

As we stand on the precipice of this new year, let us embrace the wisdom of the Bard:

“There is a tide in the affairs of men, which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune.” Shakespeare’s Globe

May we seize the opportunities that 2025 presents, navigating its currents with courage and purpose.

Happy New Year 🎆 🎉 🍾

This work was rephrased using an AI tool to emulate Shakespearean language.

This post was imported from Medium.