All lovers are victims of faith.
Another time, another life: a long road to Calabar from Uyo in pursuit of your face. The mad driver, already drunk in the early hours of the morning, sped into the swamp just after the bridge into Cross River. But I sat there, unflinching. Why was I not moved? All I thought of was music of evening ponds, of locking horns with you again. And when the car tumbled I did nothing but recite your name. Not even death can separate. There is no fear in love, perfect love casteth out fear.