- Philadelphia, PA, United States
- I suck at bios. Am horrible at telling interesting things about myself without embarassing myself at the same time. So I stick to the basics: My mind is forever active; always thinking and asking questions. I enjoy reading. Love writing. But if it were up to me, I'd love for a lifetime because love, is an animal that as untamed as it is, it's perfect.
Saturday, August 28, 2010
Rewind 15 years - Waiting to Exhale, circa 1995. I remember my mom took me to see the movie when it first came out. It was a date. Andorra Shopping Center - the best movie theatre in all of Philadelphia! At least that's what my 8 year old self thought. Unbeknownst me, that film would be pivotal to me, as a young girl. Waiting to Exhale is the film that ushered me into the realization that "Damn, I'm a girl!"
Fast forward 15 years. To now. That 8 year old girl is a 23 year old woman who now, fully understands the innuendos and adult comments and content made throughout the film. That 8 year old who is now a 23 year old woman, not only understands, but has been in some of the shoes filled by the women who played these pivotal roles. These, classic characters.
I remember watching it in my 8 year old skin, during the part when Robin and Michael have (horrific) sex. He looked like a fish in dry land, dying, but then he came to life - in minutes. I remember Gloria being the overbearing mother. And Angela Bassett's unforgettable role as the wife who sets her husband's clothes, jewelry and car ablaze after he leaves her, for a white woman. The rest of the movie, the little things, I didn't remember. Until this Saturday. This boring "apple-sugar-spice" Saturday!
But I realized and learned some, well, a lot of things as I watched this crucial film, from beginning to end. From opening scene to rolling credits. I watched that film beginning as the 8 year old girl I originally viewed it in, and slowly, grew into the 23 year old woman I am now.
Bernadine wanted to call her husband's new woman - the white woman, his secretary, to "talk" to her. Robin, egged her on. Savannah (Whitney!), shook her head. And Gloria, protested and subsequently snatched the cord out the phone. Bernie broke down. And I noticed, no one, not even Gloria or Robin who was on her side, consoled her. No one took her hand and said sweet words that we want our girlfriends to say. No one cusped her face into their brown, worn palms, and whispered positive words to her. They all sat (or stood) in place and watched her break down. And question why.
I sat at the edge of my bed, pouring, drying, and peeling Elmer's school glue from off of my hands. I sat there, seeing myself with my sister and my best friends. Watching us talk about what's to come - our fears and excitements. We're all excited to become mothers and wives, to buy our first homes and take vacations that women only takes with her girls.
I sat, waiting for the play button to be pushed in my life. To hear the "on your mark, get set *gunshot!* GO!" I sat, and watched this movie, and noticed that none of these women took care of themselves. But they took damn good care of everyone else. To please, everyone else - whether spiritually, emotionally, or sexually. Took exceptional care of their children, homes, and careers. But, they failed at making sure that their self, their person, their beings, were their #1 priority.
So, after the credits rolled, and I peeled glue from my hands one last time for the day, I made myself a cup of herbal tea. Started a simple dinner for one. And began this piece. Googled the benefits of yoga. Vowed, to myself, that while I wait for life to stop skipping, the least I could do is take care of me. To put me first. To take care of myself whether it meant eating more vegetables or meditating before bed. Whether it meant not answering the phone when I know I don't want to be bothered, just to have or to get a peace of mind, or randomly texting a friend I Love You.
Adulthood and I have a love/hate relationship. We've had this devastating relationship since I started college. It isn't fair and surely does what it wants to - what it sees fit. Doesn't give me what I want, when I want or what I feel I rightfully deserve, and damn sure doesn't give a streak of good luck!
But, as I sat on my bed, watching a cast of actresses whose careers let alone their lives span and double my own, I realized the key to this game of adulthood isn't to wait for it to do you right. The key is to do yourself right. The key, is to find a space or moment in time to call your own. Find a some peace of mind even when you're sitting in the midst of chaos. Appreciate the glimpses of sunshine regardless of the category 7 hurricane that's ripping through your life. Find peace. And breathe. Exhale.
At 8, I thought it was all about love and being angry. At 23 and an adult, I realize the problems were and are deeper than sex, more passionate than making love, more severe and detrimental than holding on or not wanting hold on tight because you've convinced yourself you'll lose the battle anyway. It's about carving a niche in this superficial, self-centered and self-absorbed, narcissistic, emotionally drained and oversensualized society we call home.
Since re-watching this flick for the first time in its entirety in 15 years, each day, I carve a niche for me and my existence. Whether it's sitting at my computer and working on a blog or feature piece, or sitting cozy in the corner of my sofa with a cup of tea, or even, sitting on my bed, naked, and in my skin, eyes closed, heart beating steadily, I breathe. I take time back for myself, whether 5 minutes or for 10 minutes, and I take it for myself. And myself alone.
For some people, this lesson, is never learned, let alone taught. Lucky me, I learned it at 8 but understood and comprehended it at 23. The sooner we get this simple fact about life, quite possibly, the sooner we all can individually and drastically change our lives, for the better.
So, moral of the story is: take back your life and claim it. Re-name. Appreciate it. Make it yours and give yourself the life you deserve.
Monday, August 16, 2010
Marriage, is not a joke. Yet it is and continues to be made fun of. Marriage is treated as if it's something to do before you die. Something to try out like a pair of red bottoms. Test it out and toss it if you don't like it.
There's a special woman whom has taken the place as my Great-Grandmother because mine passed when I was two. This god-fearing woman, with a sharp tongue and fabulous sense of humor was married to her husband, until his death, for 63 years. They'd gotten married in Atlantic City, New Jersey at the local court, said their vows, and walked around the corner to eat dinner at her parents home. Simple. Old school. Classic. But most importantly, everlasting.
I'm 23 and by the time I was born, they had been married for a good 40 plus years already. They took their position and role as husband and wife seriously. They realized and understood that there's a reason that 'we' is spelled with no 'I'. There's a reason that couple is spelled with no 'I'. There's a reason that 'vows' are spelled with no 'I'.
I was reading and studying my Bible recently about marriage, and in it I found this passage: "...and that he said, 'That's why a man will leave his father and mother and will remain united with his wife, and the two will be one' So they are no longer two but one. Therefore, don't let anyone separate what God has joined together." Matthew 19:5-6 Perfect sense it made and makes. Oftentimes, we, both as individuals and couples, as items, allow for others and everyone else not only into our relationships but into our bedrooms, and subsequently, we allow for them to decide what does and doesn't happen in our relationships. We allow for them to curve our attitudes and emotions, how we feel about situations and about our partner. We, allow for them to be the third person in our relationships.
Some time ago, I had a conversation with one of my best friends about marriage. I'd made mention that I wasn't going to drop my last name - I'll just hyphenate. Calmly, she said to me, 'Why do that? Take your husband's last name and be happy, make it known you're married. Plus, you've been Clark your entire life and last time I checked, Clark wasn't married.' She made it clear to me that if marriage is supposed to and is designed and designated to be a union, it should be treated as such.
Marriage today is played with entirely too much. And society wonders, questions, why. Celebrities don marriage the same way they do purses and diamonds that cost more than what most of us make in a year. Statistics are spewed at us in heavy rotation of how marriage is failing and falling while divorce steadily increases, exponentially it seems. We hear friends talk about being single for life because there aren't enough good girls or bad boys; that they're tired of the same ol' love song. Tired of running the love gamut.
A friend of mine on Facebook whom my parents grew up with, also an on-air radio personality for Philadelphia's local WUSL Power 99FM, Uncle O, posted recently on his Facebook status that "Some of yall wonder why when u get married it dont seem like nothing has changed...one reason is you have to drop the maiden name[,] a hyphen in ur last name dont show ur new hubby that u are ONE[.] drop old habits and get new habits...Joint bank accounts same last name the whole nine...u guys become one but u still have separate lives. Just my opinion. I see a lot of hyphenated last names not good." Needless to say, a lot of women told him he was wrong, gave countless reasons as to why they've chosen or are choosing to hyphenate or not change their names when they do get married, and at the end of the day, made it clear that they didn't feel that changing last names was necessary. I for one, absolutely agree with him.
"Everyone wants to go to Heaven, but no one wants to die." Sounds like marriage to me. Everyone wants be loved unconditionally; wants their own piece of the pie, but doesn't want to take the necessary steps to get there. Doesn't want to do what's necessary on their part to make sure the entity remains intact.
No, I'm not married. Never been. But someday I will be. And I'm doing it once and one time only. And it will be til' death do us part, in sickness and in health, through good times and bad.
Marriage by far is not a two-way street that allows for us to be one, yet, walk in opposite directions - defeats the purpose. Instead, it's a one way street with two individuals from two different walks of life, walking, trekking, running, traveling, and experiencing this all together. At least it's supposed to be.
Many of us have become lazy and assume that once the engagement is agreed to, the ceremony and honeymoon take place, that no work is necessary. We feel that no work is needed and that things will just fall into place on its own accord. We assume that our partner knows we love them, and that there's no need to say I love you, I need you, I want you, I appreciate you. I admit, here and now, right here on this blog and in this piece, that's a mistake, a move, a decision, a habit, that's not worth making. It's not worth making assumptions that he knows you want and desire him. It's not worth thinking she knows you love her with every fiber of your body. Speak it into existence and let it be known. Speak it into existence and practice it, show it, prove it to be true. Love, as much as it is about itself and proving that it's real, it is also about knowing.
I remember freshman high school non-fiction with Ms. Litman and one of the first lessons was show, not tell. And for months, he asked, borderline begged me to show my love and not just tell it. Show it in simple kisses when I arrived home from work, or send a text message explaining just how much I not only loved, but missed and couldn't wait to see him, type of love. We'd been together for nearly three years at that point, and he was still asking me to do these simple, basic feats, but I, a fish as stubborn as a bull, silently refused. And I can say now with every womanly existence I have, it was an uneccessary refusal because love, is work. Point blank. No way around or away it. It's a 24/7, 7 days, 52 weeks, and 12 month job.
Love and relationships, including marriage is ongoing, nonstop work. And it seems to me, that we're either too afraid or too lazy to work for what we claim we want, need, and deserve - including our partners - whether married or not.
I vouch for old school married kind of loves. Trade in our platinum weddings for City Hall in Sunday's best and quaint celebrations with those who truly are happy for us. Trade in the contractual concept for the love contract, til' death do us part, for better or for worst. Trade in hyphenated names for family names, married names. Trade in 10 year relationships that turn into two year marriages and end in divorce, for everlasting togetherness. Trade in the girlfriend, homeboy, Facebook, Twitter, Myspace, tweaker, hoochie, boyfriend and girlfriend #2, side jawn talk with husband and wife conversations in bed, together, late, and full of love. Let marriage be what it is supposed to be. Let marriage exemplify the best of love, and at times, the worst of it too.
I speak and write, I attempt to practice these very things, because love and marriage are one of a kind; they are simple and basic, they are fragile and easily break like 60 year bones. If it, whether the relationship, love, or marriage, is what you want, ladies and gents, men and women, lovers alike, I beg of you to work on it. Fix it. Struggle and hustle and bustle for it. No longer allow for irreconcilable differences to be the reason you end what at one point and time you wanted. No longer allow for your mother, father, sister, brother, aunt and uncle, cousins, nieces and nephews, friends, co-workers, strangers, groupies and hoochies alike, man on the street, the cat, dog, or goldfish in the bowl, be why you don't make it.
Yes, it's that deep.
Special thanks to Uncle O for allowing for his status to be used. Listen to him and Mikey Dredd, The Hot Boyz on Power 99 FM (98.9 FM) in Philadelphia from 6-10pm Monday-Friday
Saturday, August 14, 2010
So, what's the point of this blog? What role does girllnexxdoor play in my life, and in your life, aside from a uber cute blog title? What's the mission? What's the purpose. What's the point of it all?
I didn't bother to consider this until I came across another blog, by a different author, who quite possibly without knowing, sparked something in me. Questioned me to question myself on why is it that I do this. What is this to me and more importantly, what do I want this to be everyone else? To whomever decides to follow or link or like or discuss or copy and paste passages into tweets and statuses.
Ironically, my mother asked me the same question yesterday: "So what is this blog thing you're doing now?" I couldn't answer her because I didn't know. So I thought of something quick, "Just to write. And let other people read it." But this simple response doesn't explain my sheer excitement or the excitement or comfort or inspiration that followers, likers, and readers get when they visit girllnexxdoor.
I don't like mission statements. They to me are too simple and oftentimes not pretty enough. They lack the flower and beauty of words.
Friday, August 13, 2010
Even as children, we correlate love with hugs and kisses, with holding of hands and grasping of calves. We understand and understood then, that there is something simplistically difficult about this word, this action, this phrase. We realize as children, with a very limited vocabulary, that my responsibility, is to comprehend exactly what love is.
The reasons we're taught and teach this phrase can only be one of two reasons; either to embrace it or avoid it - at all costs.
Most of my writing is about love and my mishaps with it. Most poets write about love and their desires for it. Most celebrity blogs dramatize it. We search for jobs that we love. Blushing brides search for that gown to which they love. Teachers take measly salaries for their love of the job. Women endure, whether out of stupidity or not, because of love. We make love and make babies out of this love. We open our eyes daily because some higher power loved us that much to keep us. And some of us, don't open our eyes and succumb to death because some higher power loved us enough to take us away.
Everything we do and everything we search for, is for and because of love.
At some point in our lives, love does us wrong, does us raw, and skins us alive. Love, as merciless as it feels, and at times it is, at particular and certain points in our lives, is like the summer's wasp. With sealed lids, it functions off and out of sheer emotion, and sometimes, blindly enters into realms and situations that are no good for it, places that could end its existence. But love, like the wasp, moves rapidly. It doesn't budge or shake like the bee when swat at; doesn't die immediately when hit either. Love, stands alone and by itself.
I remember being a young teenage girl, along with my best friends and school peers, sharing stories and tales about what we thought then was love. Love then, didn't require trial and error; love then, were mere experimentations, tests, to see if we, as girls, were ready. The irony in it all, is that even now as women, our emotions and reactions to the real thing tend to be as gentle and succulent as our then 16 years old girl hearts were.
And even though I personally believe, in my heart of hearts that love, not that money green papered money, is the root of most, if not all evil, I for one, will continue to conquer and perfect it. I, will continue to practice and critique it. I, have and will continue to evolve because of love.
It is an evil after all that is necessary.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
this reminds me of timeless novels named after the main character - simple titles. charlotte's web. selah's bed. song of Solomon. resurrecting mingus. sula. assata. you get the drift. but this isn't even about amity, more so for her and me and any other woman who may read this and understand the joys and pains. the frustrations of adulthood, livelihood, and trying to be and achieve something in life without much guidance. it's hard. and most days, it hurts.
the inspiration. the love. the passion. most of it has left me again so I can do me again and search and find me again. to look at me and change me again into a new me again. find a joyous me that has found a lot that I can say I love you in front of my mother type of again - again,
this is about the life of a girl turned lady who's still fighting to become the woman her mother so eagerly hopes shes trained and raised her to become. this is about the heart that has been through some things but keeps going. keeps searching. keeps trying. keeps praying humbly for change and honesty and consistent love.
I hope this inspires you to do more. to be more. to understand more. to want more and therefore, achieve more.
so am called my bluff without her even knowing it. I've been trying for a while to write something with the same umph my past writings had. something striking and poignant. but I failed to realize that words written with truth are poignant and prolific alone. they stand on their own like a persistent toddler who insists on learning to walk but to stand on its own. without help and guidance - only inspiration. even more so, I fought with myself to do this and still am because there's nothing I can find in the obvious, nothing that sits directly in front of me that screams pain and therefore begs for me to etch its existence and my memory of it on paper. It's said that writers write best when in pain. Or upset. Or angry. Yet, none of these apply to me.
when creativity takes a break, life happens because life has to go on and it has to get things done. accomplish a goal. teach lessons. change the lives of other people. it inspires. it sees and feels and tastes and hears and smells new things to inspire and build and create something new.
many, most, if not all of my writings have been mere exhibitions of what it was and felt like to be hurt and pained. to have been wronged and left to lick wounds that originally werent there - wounds that we tell ourselves shouldn't be there. but in all honesty, they need to exist and need to live in order for us to learn. I've learned this and still am learning that my body, heart included, is nothing less of an open, blank, plain picture, sitting silently and still, on an easel, waiting to be scribbled and written all over on, to be negated and loved, to be hurt and healed, to learn and be miseducated - to be painted on with blood stained hands and lips.
I know I'm a woman. I was born with a vagina. raised as a girl. grew breasts. learned about sex in-between my mother and I going to the movies to see Waiting to Exhale as a little girl and that night she sat me on her bed to have "the talk". as a woman now, but specifically as a girl then, and many of us, once as girls, we learned about our sexuality and sex organs in correlation with the difference from a "girls" privates and a "boys" privates. everything we know, we learned by accident. many of us, learned about sex far before our parents told us that god awful Birds & the Bees tale. many of us, learned that fire is hot and ice is cold not because someone repeatedly repeated it to us, but because we had to find out on our own.
for me, it's only recently, in the last few years that I've realized that I am a woman. that my struggles and pains, joys and triumphs, my dreams, are all shaped around and by the fact that I am a woman. I pray for my unborn children and their lives because I am a woman. I want to be loved by a man with the same mustard seed that and hopefulness that I have come to love my God and spirituality because I am a woman. I have experienced many and plenty of hardships and have been knocked down in life because I am a woman! a woman who loves herself. a woman who loves her femininity but doesn't lavish in it. Call is paralyzing if you'd like, but this is beauty and sensuality all wrapped in one.
with time and patience, I've learned and have come to understand that life is shaped by experiences. Experiences can happen to us and to those who we love forever and a day that shapes who we are and who we eventually become. I use to question the validity in such a thought, but with age comes a lot of things, more specifically wisdom and understanding; and there is truth in that thought. and this realization more times than not places uncertainty into my heart as I joyfully look forward to motherhood and a life as someones wife. joyfully look forward to a life of success and limitless possibilities. but to know that what I myself have and will continue to experience in this life will shape the lives of my children and my future generations, and even, may shape the ways to which they view me. that my pain and joy will mold the lens to which my husband and children and grandchildren and nieces and nephews will view me in this harsh world. so, I secretly pray away from others but publicly in the corners of my bedroom that the lens that I will someday be viewed with will be one of strength and respect. nothing more. or less.
there's something sacred I believe in realizing who an individual is to themselves. because, if I don't know or can't tell you who I am and what I mean to me, then I can't tell you anything else. if I can't tell you about self-love, self-understanding, self-empathy, self-compromise - SELF, ME, myself, and I, then I can't tell you anything else. if I can't tell you these simple things, if I can't tell you how much I love and adore myself, then I can't explain the depth of my love for another.
There's a lot to be said and written about love and relationships; whether intimate ones, platonic ones, friendships, familal ones. There are those relationships that change and postively impact lives; destroy them too. Those that are endearing and compassionate, and of course, those that will suck every bit of energy out of your body.
But the love relationship, is an odd person. Its feelings are soft and gentle, and sometimes, unyeilding and stubborn. The twisted dichotomy of the love relationship is the attempt to find balance between the moments and times when the bed we sleep in is fractured and our joints tighten and backs ache all while our heart strings are pulled into a direction that it wants, and should be. Love, is like the sheer ugliness of a rose's genetic makeup: scarred with thorns, it too struggles to become who and what it is, to discover and realize its beauty in a world full of hostility and misunderstandings.
Yes, love in its natural state is fun and not serious at all; it is free flowing, and withstands all trials and tribulations of life. But the love relationship entwined with individuals and their emotions, thoughts, past, current, and future baggage, is not all fun and games, because people run it and people make mistakes. People do what they want, and not what love, naturally, requires them to do. People do what the world says they ought to, and not what they geniunely, in their heart of hearts, want to do - for themselves and for the survival of their love. People, tend to convince themselves that no one, not even their partner, understands their personal struggles; the struggles outside of us, outside of the here and now.
These facts are solidified and repeated in the words of a beautifully written and sung Jill Scott poem, Ain't A Ceiling. The words, are just as striking in print and to the eyes, as they are in sound and to the ears. She sings in an endearing tone, an understanding one:
So I want to step off with was, and start with right now.
You say, "the world just don't understand"
But I aint the world my love, I'm your woman
And I know how deep it really goes
trying to tread on a dream when the water feels low
And this, is what it's really all about. Reaching the point when the tears stop and for a moment in time, however short it may be, we're able to say I get you! I understand your emotional make-up and because of that, WE can do this.
It's ok and it's quite necessary to comfort and ease the spirits of our loves: whether they be intimate ones, platonic ones, friendships, or familal ones. But special caution has been taken for love relationships for they are forever gentle whether they've existed for 3 months or 68 years. Love, should not be taken for granted regardless of what facet it exists; whether it be a friend, brother, or the homeless woman on the street who simply needs a smile to let her know someone understands.
And by my being a woman who's experienced some things and have gone thru some things and felt and witnessed and wanted and needed, some things, all due to love, there's nothing better than being on the same page with your partner. There's nothing better than knowing when I wake in the morning, our love, will continue to be unyeilding. And this, will continue, so long as you understand that ...I ain't the world my love, I'm your woman"
Ain't A Ceiling, Jill Scott, Def Poetry Jam 2007
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Many, most, if not all of us have been reared on or have at least heard the saying let he without sin cast the first stone, at some point in our lives. We too at some point (or several), have found ourselves standing at both ends of the spectrum. We've played the stone thrower and the stone catcher. We have judged and been judged. And without it being said, many of us are more comfortable playing the stone thrower, than we are being the stone catcher. Obviously.
There's a particular uncomfortable stance that someone, that you or I, have to withstand in order to be the stone catcher. A certain body cast. A particular frame of mind and even, a certain outlook on both the situation and life. To be able to focus on and think about the right later instead of the right now; to be able to look past versus looking at. And I say all of this because just as it is easier to play one role, I too, have and sometimes cast stones I have no right or privy to do so.
Judgement, is a very dangerous turf. As permission, often has not been granted to us to do so.
I sat, listening to words being hurled at me and in a blink of an eye, I realized, however full of emotion these sentiments were, they were not being stated out of love or concern. They by far were not being said with careful consideration or with only an ounce of opinion or judgement. Words, are far more dangerous than actions or reactions. Words, can divide and conquer nations just as they can piece them back together again like Humpty Dumpty's shattered body. The tongue, is far more dangerous than the sword; and this, we often forget.
But I sat through these brash words and questioned, where the fuck is the love?! Where was the I respect your decision(s) regardless of how much I may disagree? In this one-sided conversation, none of this existed, nor mattered. Surprisingly, the forever swimming Pisces in me did not show her watercolors. She did not fill and then combust with tears. Nope. Not this time. Frustration and anger, hurt and a harsh realization is all that consumed her. It wasn't worth the tears nor argument, the bickering or expletives and namecalling that was being hurled from front to back, and back again. Nope. Not this time. It wasn't even worth calling a truce and calling it a day. It wasn't worth agreeing to disagree and shaking hands and air kissing cheeks to leave the battle done. Nope. Not this time.
At some point, the choosing, picking up, and hurling, tossing, throwing, of objects - whether words, stones, or fists, has to stop.
At some point, the self-made decisions to judge the choices and resolutions, the conclusions and denouements of others, has to stop.
At some point, to be humble and modest, however much it may cause us to clinch teeth, ball hands into tightly concealed knots, swallow complete words or half sentences, all has to began. To involve ourselves and consequently throw in our whole dollars, half dollars, twenty-five, or measly two cents, needs to come to an end.
So let these words, with no judgement, no opinions, no imaginary pennies, nickles, dimes, or quarters being thrown into your wishing well, let this all sink in. Because all glass houses eventually crack and crumble.
Monday, August 9, 2010
So was I. Then.
But then, out of no where, I became frantic and nervous. Suddenly afraid of commitment and suddenly wanting to participate in the life of glitz and glam, fun and games that had never quite interested me before. An imaginary bucket list appeared and I'd convinced myself I needed to achieve and do these things before doing anything else - particularly, before marriage and the baby carriage. Visit somewhere out of the country. Take a road trip. Buy an expensive, high end bag. Blow an entire check on nothing. Become someone who I essential was not, am not, and will never be. But for a moment, I was ok with these ideas. I'd convinced myself that these ideas, these thoughts, were what I needed - when they essentially were wants that hadn't even made it to being desires. And stupidly, I'd allowed them to convince me that my relationship wasn't worth a wad of gum on the bottom of my ALDO ballet flats. Stupidly, I'd allowed them to convince me that there was a world outside of the one I ventured into daily to go to work, or visit my mother, or one outside of the one that he and I spent so many evenings and nights debating on what else was there for us to do. That world.
So, before I knew it, we were done and he was gone. And the long nights came knocking on my bedroom door. The waking up in the middle of the night and thinking someone else was in my bedroom, when it was instead, my stuffed moose my little sister gave me for Christmas years ago or my bra draped over the lamp. My subconscious was fighting to tell me early, though a sound decision, my reasons to do so weren't so sound. Weren't so put together. And that at the end of the story, it wasn't a good idea.
But I continued to convince myself I was right, this is what I needed, and that was the end of the story. I barhopped. Spent a few hundred dollars on summer sandals and bags (not the expensive high end one though). Cut my hair. Dabbled back into my makeup box. Bought a watch. Moved into a new, more spacious apartment.
And it hit me. I had no one standing behind me in the morning, totally amazed at me as I applied and paired my coppering MAC eye shadow with my charcoal CoverGirl eye shadow. I had no one asking me to sit on his back to crack it as he ventured off to sleep. I cooked dinner for one (dinner eventually went from a meal to a bowl of cereal). I began to yearn for the jingling keys in the door. Or the text saying Baby, I'll be home in 15.
There are things and people that our closest friends and family cannot be. There are things that they cannot do for us. There are times that not even they can comfort us or rub our backs or shoulders or hands or tummies, to let us know that everything will be ok. They, cannot give us the love of a lover.
And seven months later, I understand. I welcome this fact. I cloak my shoulders with this fact. This trueness. And willingly will battle any heart or mind who feels or thinks otherwise. Because the fact of the matter is that there are nights when in darkness with not even a star to flicker or twinkle in our eyes, love is our only company.
No love is worth it if you don't have to fight for it. If it doesn't beg of you to get in the ring with it. If it doesn't scream and shout and cry at you as it pleads for you to understand its sincerity and true dedication to you. And only you. Love is fickle. Love is fine. Love falls in and out, comes and goes, smiles and cries, but regardless of whatever facet it is donned in today, it, is, still, love.