I had proof that black was beautiful

She liked my dredlocks.  But the thing was that I really just had kinky twists.  

I’d met her way before that, probably some months prior, in Olive Branch.  I was really hot for her then, but I was so focused on work that I felt like we shouldn’t get down like that.  She was into me, but then again, it might have all been play regardless.  I was trying to get her attention, but it wasn’t working at all…

Then I come back to Memphis.  All people can talk about is how much she’s been asking about where I’ve been.  Personally, your boy was under the impression that she didn’t care in the least.  On top of that, my job was basically on the verge of being eliminated.  Things couldn’t get worse even if I’d tried to make them worse.  So what did I do?  I fell in love with her.

We fought a lot.  We laughed a lot.  We spent a lot of our time watching movies and making fun of each other.  She held my attention.  I missed her when she was gone and although she feverishly denied it, I know she missed me too.  There was no way that I was going to go back to twists though.  And that probably should have signaled my end… or our end anyway.  But I’m blind when I’m like that.  All caught up in how I felt and probably not listening to her and how she felt is what got me here in the first place: typing in the dark.

I love her.  I still do, even when things couldn’t possibly get better.  Even when I was with the other girl, especially when I was with the other girl probably.  I told her a lot of the same things that I told you… only she listened to me a little more when I told her I cared about her.  I imagine I was really talking to you.  How fucked up is that, right?

When things get worse sometimes I blame her.  She told me to erase her from my phone, and she’d do the same with me.

I lied.

Some lies are better left untold yet cherished, like old jewelry from new department store boxes… shiny paper makes anything seem legitimate, even when covering something taboo.  We’re all liars anyway right?  All hypocrites, so why not shame myself a little more?  

I probably should have called her by now.  But I can’t because deep down I know that she’d just hang up the phone.  So I’ll sit here, with my hand on Send.

Well, I did until about five minutes ago.

Get better, lady who constantly confuses me.  If you don’t make it, I’ll keep lying to myself and saying I don’t miss you anyway.