Why did I write for Dada?
Probably because I enjoyed listening to his stories.
They spoke to me of me.
And of men, the kind who I have a weakness for. Who reach out for the stars. Irrespective of the reality of where their feet are, their head is in the clouds. Where they dream of doing the impossible.
However dark the depths I displayed, he was not scared. He always had a darker story to tell. He dared me to have a positive point of view- only so that it would sell.
He was that substantial tree that Raheem or someone like that speaks of- the one which offers you a shade by the girth of it's branches, even when the leaves have fallen.
When I tried to batter him with the truth, he laughed in my face.
And pitied my intelligence.
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