I would be lying if I said I don’t think about you. So let’s throw the bullshit out, and mortgage pride for truth– this once, or twice. I think about you, often; maybe not as frequently as before, but I still do. I think about your solemn eyes, and whispering smile; your hoarse laughter, and swanky thoughts. I think about the light you brought with you each time you entered the room, and the glow you left behind even when you left. I think about everything, and I smile. And too, it’s different now. Gone is the bitterness in my heart when your thoughts stray along. Gone is the question about who left who, and what-nots. Gone, far-long-distantly-long gone is the sorrow in my heart at the memories we never shared; and replacing it now, is a smile– a brilliant smile at what we had while we could. I look at your pictures now, and I smile– and say “look at those tiny cute eyes!” I see your smile, and remember how I would tease you about the uncertain dimples that poked you somewhere in the cheek, once a while. I don’t flinch when I stumble upon the texts or notes we shared, or the confessions we made about love and tomorrow’s, and forevers that ended too soon– no, I read them, consciously; word for word, line for line. I read them in your voice, and feel the texture of your love once again. And I smile, and thank God that I experienced something as beautiful as that with someone. Someone. Someone could have been anyone. But someone was you. Cosmo chose you. Gaia chose you. The signs put you in my way. Fate led me down your path. We met. We clashed. Beautiful friction. Dizzying fusion. We made what we made. We had what we had.
I think about you now, whenever I get the chance. And I smile again like I used to, like I will always do. And that… it is what it is.
© The Short Black Girl, 2016.