Do I have to remind you of our first meeting?

Do I have to remind you of how we sat on the field and talked about the moon?

Do I have to tell you that I paid more attention to your eyes and lips?

My God! Those lips!

Do I have to tell you that I watched admirably from a distance while you practiced takwando

Do I have to tell you how embarrassed and stupid I felt when you caught me going through your phone because you wouldn't mind your own business?

Do I have to remind you of how you dragged me to mami and made me dance like a lunatic? Or how you made me drink palmwine and Origin? Terrible combination.

Do I have to inform you that I've been walking on egg shells ever since we met?

Do I have to tell you that I love the way you walk? Or that you remind me of Cleopatra?

Do I have to tell you that I've grown fond of you and that I miss you?

OR

Do I have to ask you what my chances are.

I hope to see the corper with the green pouch sometime again.
I hope to air my reservations and say all that was left unsaid.
I hope to understand why I feel the way I do,
And I hope she feels the same way too.

Her gestures were with a contradictory blend of grace and composure. The sight of her was simply breathtaking. I remember sitting on the volleyball court one sunny afteroon, being protected by the shade of a large melina tree nature had provided for lazy and useless members of various platoons; I watched Ruth from a distance as she employed her martial art skills in combating an imaginary adversary: Breathtaking.

I had gotten fond of Ruth and was getting to know her better when the curtains of camping were drawn, and the inconsiderate hand of fate seperated us. The seperation was anticipated so its effect was not immense. Although it awakened some insane thoughts; thoughts of writing her zonal inspector requesting her repost to my lodge as her primary place of assignment. Losing her would be like losing a meal ticket; I would go hungry; hungry of her company.

The beauty above was overwhelming, I couldn't behold it alone. subconciously I touched the person next to me lightly on the shoulder; she looked around, and I could see honest curiosity in her eyes. I pointed to the sky, she looked up and smiled in admiration. That was the turning point. We sat on the dew-drenched grass, we talked about the moon, the stars, we talked a little about us, and that was when I began to understand the regal appearance of the moon that morning. I learned she was Ruth, a member of the martial art crew in the NYSC orientation camp, Delta state. Quite unusual for a young lady with her physique; relatively tall, slim, short hair, with skin that spelt "black is beautiful". Dark beautiful eyes that searched inquisitively into mine for answers that were not all readily available; an effective weapon of intimidation. When she walked, the dangerous and unruly movement of her "not-so-bouyant" waist line had the capability of making a deacon lose composure.

On that freezing early morning like many past mornings and many more to come, I squated on one of the four queues that formed the platoon nine (9). I had refused to pay rapt attention to the morning news and meditation. I rather occupied my cold mind with thoughts of the day's activites and how to escape parade and morning sanitation.

Fed up with the sight of two thousand two hundred and eighty eight (2,288) young people dressed in all white, I chose to feed my eyes with something different. I raised my eyes to the sky only to behold the overwhelming beauty that had appeared unnoticed. Hanging on the sky was the moon in its fairness, surrounded by orange clouds that formed a circle around it. On sighting this I knew by instinct that something was up. There was something magnificent about the day. The stars were scattered beautifully across the sky. Why hadn't I looked up the very moment I stepped on that parade ground?