AdeOla Crystiana Fadumiye
2 min readJun 1, 2017


I can’t remember why I wrote this piece, but I sense a boy beneath all of the rambling. I sense a boy I was using not one I was loving.

I may be wrong, and maybe I was the one, the girl, actually been used.

The goal
The Intention
Whatever you call it
It’s raining down, but in ways I can’t predict
A mix-mash of emotions, things, places and smell
Some stick and others bounce flintily off the wall
Nothing really makes sense
And as each walks away
It begs the questions of “who did what wrong and what could be done better?”
Love is not involved
Not once not twice not thrice
It still doesn’t take away from the intensity of mix-mashed encounters
One after the other and after the other and after the other
They stream pass like shadows on the walls of a busy street
Red light Green light
Yellow light is the most horrifying
You see it coming, you try to avoid it, but it let’s in the green like you don’t matter
Emotions are laid to waste
No moans. No groans
You think this must be the finale and then
Dear Jesus, you ask for more time.
More stage time you beckon and I give up predicting time.

Originally published at



AdeOla Crystiana Fadumiye

Writer + Editor. Musings on Faith, Feminism & Entrepreneurship | My life’s broken pieces sprinkled w/ silver lining perspectives @