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When Love Escapes Us.
I met somebody.
Normally this would be a great thing, except I was right out of a failed relationship. Not failed because of infidelity or indecency, but failed because of humanity. Maybe I didn’t try hard enough. Maybe I didn’t try at all. But convincing myself that she wasn’t the one was easier than the self-reflection so I hit my nae nae as I walked out of the door. I didn’t even realize that I’d tripped over the door sweep until I opened my eyes and saw the one who would be next staring down at me as if Allah himself sent her.
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Which again, would have been great except, I’d just hit my nae nae and most folks don’t even know what that is. Her included. But hey, woman’s job isn’t to know everything, it’s to show me that I could have been flying the entire time I was walking. And she did. There were no boxes to check off on my list. For a spell she had me buying into the Love Jones definition of romance and I didn’t even like Love Jones. In her I saw the possibilities.
Except I was just out the door.
But with my confidence in tow and belief that God would neither give me something I couldn’t handle nor records that I couldn’t sample, I ventured into the journey of the unknown with this woman who for all intents and purposes made me smile again. One of those smiles you don’t even realize you’re doing. But once it’s pointed out you’re embarassed because who has a right to be so happy that they don’t even know it? So happy that you feel like you’re in a room without a ceiling. So happy that basically it is just who you are. I wasn’t that before and yet here I was now.
Or so I thought. #her quickly became #she and part of that was the walls I’d put up around my heart after my last breakup. To be fair, the devastation of that breakup was far greater than I’d given it credit for and I didn’t even know it until well after I needed to have figured that out. It’s hard to fall in love when you’re wearing a harness that keeps you standing up because falling can hurt like hell. She tried to trip me up though. She gave it her all. Threw her heart out at random intervals and dropped affection and support in my path. And I did the best that I could given my circumstances. Of course, not knowing I had circumstances severely limits how far we could make it.
Was she the one? Maybe. Even now I grapple with that question and enough time has gone by to call it official Black History. Because February. But the nagging is always there. What I do know (now) is that for me, it wasn’t the right time. I hadn’t taken the time to deal with what was and what could have been. I also never accepted the fact that my ability to move on came with strings. I wasn’t going to make the next woman pay for the infallibility of my previous relationship. But who knew that love also worked on credit? This woman, who by any measure adored me and I her stared me dead in my face with the most beautiful eyes I’d ever seen and offered her soul to mine and the best I could muster was maybe 60 percent of my humanity and 20 percent of my vulnerability. And even there is some overlap. My soul? I thought she could have it but over time the arguments spurred by both of our inability to recognize where we were in life spurred a certain lack of desire to share with her what made me tick.
If Sway doesn’t even have the answers then I didn’t even have the questions. The situation fell apart fairly quickly. What God has joined may no man put asunder. I think both of us thought the little twist tie we’d use to keep ourselves together was a bit more deified than perhaps it was.
Wrong time? Probably.
I stared down my angel and asked her why her wings weren’t as pretty as I thought they should be. But they worked. And she flew. And I stood there asking myself why I was still walking instead of flying. But I’d also bought some new shoes and everybody knows you need to break new shoes in. So I let her fly solo. And I kept on walking. Those memories resonate and I still maintain them. The dream of it all mixed with the reality that set in. But it all blends perfectly, let the liquor tell it.
It is often in a brown-induced daze that I ponder the age old question of what matters more: right person or right time? If you meet your soulmate do you focus on that or do you do the work so that soulmate isn’t just something you say because it sounds good? Do you hope to catch them next lifetime when you can make it work? I don’t know. Ignorance is bliss I suppose so even in that line of questioning I hope it kind of works itself out. I mean who wants to think they squandered heaven because their watch broke?
After some time I dedicated myself to moving past the blocks that held me hostage. Ropes and chains just aren’t my thing. I wasn’t a slave, but I heard about it, it didn’t sound cool. Word to D.C. Curry. Maybe had I met her later in my journey we’d be able to walk it out together into some blissful future both of us dreamed about in unison. But we didn’t so we can’t. So we won’t. And I’m not gon’ cry. Plus Argentina is, like, far.
I’m no soothsayer and I leave the wisdom to the sages. But the question will always persist, be it my story or others: what’s more important?
Some people say if its the right person, then its the right time. Some people also say the end is the beginning. Some people are made of plastic, and some people are made of wood.
Right person or right time?
The questions.