Reflections

“Ever since I realized, there was someone called a colored girl or an evil woman, a bitch or a nag I been trying not to be that and leave bitterness in somebody else’s cup. Come to somebody to love me without deep and nasty smelling scars from lye or being left screaming in a street of lunatics whispering, ‘Slut, bitch, bitch. Nigga, get out of here with all of that.’ I didn’t have any of that for you. I brought you what joy I found. And I found joy.”- Ntzosake Shange

Three Christmases ago, I remember staring at you from the passenger side of your car and knowing, without a shred of doubt, that I was going to love you. It wasn't a question, or an idea, it just, was. I try to remember the silly things about you, the things that haven't been crowded out with anger and bitterness. I remember the way your hair fell into your eyes and the way you looked at me like you were seeing the sun for the first time. When I think of you, and yes, it will always be a lot because I am always thinking, I try to remember these things. Kissing in my birthday at midnight, those long drives in your truck, I try to remember these things. I know we're done because we always wanted different things. Because you believe in God, and I believe in everything and it's not our love I miss. I miss memories of simplicity, before I knew it would never last.