Whispers of the Savannah

‎My dear Koko, my love, my life, my hope, my everything.

‎I write to you not from a city of lights, but from the endless plains of Chepalungu, where the grass bends like old prayers beneath the wind. The morning has come gently, the air smells of milk, dung, and dew. I sit beneath the acacia’s shade, my stick across my knees, my heart heavy with your memory.

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‎The cows move slow before me, gentle queens of the plain, their hides painted with sun and dust. The goats skip and argue like children, nibbling on thorns that would pierce the tongue of any other creature. Around me, the savannah hums a low music of wind, wings, and bells.

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‎And yet, Koko, even here, among all this beauty, my eyes search for you.

‎If I had your laughter here, the hills would echo it till dusk. If I had your gaze, even the wildebeest would pause to listen.

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‎The sun climbs higher, fierce...