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Usually.<br />
So the lights dim; the dance is done – old partners are replaced with new ones; old passionate<br />
loves become nothing but memory – memories <strong>of</strong> a sunset traded for a star-spangled<br />
night sky. They smile; both reader and writer. They smile – and move on to other things, other<br />
people – lovers, friends, partners – change happens.<br />
But sometimes, former partners stay. Old lovers linger…memories refuse to be replaced.<br />
Love hangs around; staying for one last look over the shoulder, saying I had so wonderful a<br />
time…can we do this once more?<br />
And then; only then can a writer say my work here is done.<br />
If after surfing through the fifteen stories in this collection; after absorbing the twenty-something<br />
thousand or so words, after smiling and crying and being frightened and angry – all<br />
through the experience, if after enduring the seemingly-endless droning in this outro; if after all<br />
that, there is a lingering memory <strong>of</strong> what each story felt like – in your mouth, your gut – there<br />
is a desire to seek out the pen-smiths whose work you have on your screen now, if you’re<br />
willing to consume whatever else you’re served from them…<br />
Then; only then can they say…<br />
Our work is done.<br />
Tales from this other side.<br />
Seun Odukoya<br />
28th <strong>of</strong> August 2015<br />
2:54am
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