It is the confession of a young man who found himself confessed to by a maiden.

A pure soul from the harsh sunny lands of Northern Nigeria, where the earth stretches patiently toward the Sahara, and yet she carries none of that harshness within her.

She is gentleness where one expects severity.

Care where one expects distance.

A quiet kind of love that seems too pure to have been born under such relentless suns.

There is a smile she wears that melts me.

And there is a little mark upon her chin that, perhaps once upon a time, may have been a source of discomfort to her. Yet strangely, it has become one of the things I have come to love most a small signature left upon beauty by the hands of heaven itself.

I only hope that heaven permits me the privilege of seeing that smile at the close of many days before I finally rest my own head in sleep.

I hope that someday I get to watch our heirs rest peacefully in her arms, and moments later receive them into mine and hold them against my chest.

And if heaven is kind enough to grant me such days, I think I shall count myself among the most fortunate of men.

Until then, I can only hope.

And pray so.

© Nworisa Michael