Oxblood.
- Christine E. Ohenewah
- 22 hours ago
- 1 min read
By: Christine E. Ohenewah | A Micro Story About Guarding One's Love.

She retrained her love.
Rewired its genetic construction.
She injected her love with a quarter of temperament,
a pint of shrewdness, and a gallon of affirmations that
her love was rare. Priceless. Untouchable.
She would not entrust it to trembling, entitled palms.
She therefore encased her love in discernment,
only yielding access to those who spoke its language.
She had already accepted that only very few would know how.
However, this recognition no longer worried her,
for she now held the unshakable belief that her people would find her.
And when they did, her love would break free on its own accord.
Those around her would now understand
that her love was not their right.
It was her treasure.
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