My Dearest Procrastination,

How ironic that I write you a love letter, one filled with longing, regret, and a dash of humor when you are the very reason I never get anything done, even writing this, yours truly had had to wait until the very last minute. Every morning, you greet me like an old, familiar friend with a soft whisper of “Just a little while longer,” and I fall for you every single time, even though I know deep down you’re stealing my future.

Oh, Procrastination my oldest, dearest, most persistent love. The Bonnie to my Clyde. The Romeo to my Juliet. The Jollof rice to my white outfit. You have been with me longer than any dream, clinging to me like a jealous lover, sabotaging every success I ever dared to chase. And the worst part? I let you. I welcome you with open arms, like a fool who knows the fire burns but still stretches out their hands. I could be so many things without you. A viral sensation, a thriving CEO, a legend in Airbnb scouting, the poultry queen of Calabar, a walking testimony of discipline and drive. But no. Because you, my love, are always there, whispering in my ear, “There’s still time. Let’s just rest a little. Maybe scroll Instagram. Maybe draft the plan tomorrow.” And like a bewitched fool, I listen, because I am just as lazy as you think.

I laugh at the absurdity of it all here I am, hopelessly enamored with the very habit that holds me back. You are not just my toxic trait, you are my downfall. My greatest “what if.” You steal my potential and replace it with regret. You turn my bright ideas into abandoned drafts, my promising opportunities into “I’ll do it later,” and my success into… well, whatever this mess is. And worst of all, you do it so sweetly that I don’t even fight back.

I hate you. I really do. But I love you too, and that’s the problem. Because even as I write this letter, I know I should be working on something else. Something important. Something that would actually change my life. And yet, here I am, romanticizing the very thing that is ruining me. Tonight, as I pen this confession, I am filled with both sorrow and resolve. I regret the countless moments lost to your sweet, toxic caress. And yet, in the midst of my frustration, I nurture a spark of hope: that one day I will finally muster the strength to say goodbye. That day, I will trade your empty promises for the rich, rewarding taste of achievement

But hear me now, my darling: one day, I will leave you. One day, I will wake up and choose action. I will pick up my to-do list and actually do the things on it. I will finish what I start. I will become the powerhouse I was meant to be. And when that day comes, I will not look back. I will not miss you. I will not mourn you.

But… today is not that day. No, today, we will stay entangled, one last time. Just a little longer. Maybe tomorrow, my love. Yes… tomorrow.

Yours in toxic devotion,

Victoria