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Martin Beck Nworah Sunday, October 02, 2016 3

Today, I invited my childhood sweetheart to hang out with me and I was really marveled to see she has grown into a beautiful and attractive young lady. Precious was my childhood love for about seven or eight years. In fact, our teenage years was spent in sending love letters to each other. Funny enough, instead of her to appreciate my love and outpouring of my heart, she will end up correcting my wrong grammar. I started doing same to her and that helped me in becoming a better writer and storyteller today.

Sometime in our childhood romance, her dad invited me and told me to stay away from his daughter. chai...I was broken. A small boy of just 12 abi 14 years old being told to leave his sweetheart, I had to stay back and fight for love oooo. I cannot come and go empty handed. We played like normal kids do and when we finally decided to part ways, it was a very horrible experience for me. But today, I am thankful to God for the gift of this beautiful lady in my life when I was growing up. Though we were kids, I learnt a lot from her.

We have gone our separate ways; she is in a very loving relationship with a guy she loves and I am still single...looking for who will come and ask me out. But as we grow up in life and continue to pursue our divergent dreams, I still remember with sweet nostalgia, those moments writing "I love you was better than saying it." Those times I would refuse to eat because she was angry with me for not writing her a sweet letter for the week. The moments I smile unconditionally without even having a reason to do so. Mehn...take it from me, childhood love is always innocent and pure. I totally enjoyed mine.

Thank you so very much for hanging out with me today Precious. And as you continue to pursue your dreams and define your path in life, may God be with you and help you every step of the way. Amen.
Till we get to the Promised Land, I shall be waiting for when you will pass me a glass of water and thank God for the gift of grace for the race.



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