Seeking love

Hey. My name’s Bonolo. I’m 32, five-four barefoot, dark skin, box braids down my back with beads that click when I shake my head laughing. I live in a small flat in Brixton, the one with the lemon tree nobody harvests and the stoep that smells like rain and wet concrete every afternoon.

I’m not here for games or situationships or “let’s see where it goes.” I’m here because I’m tired of nights that end with just me and the sound of taxis hooting outside my window. I want someone who shows up, who stays, who wants to build something even when it’s messy.