There Ain't No Award For That

She was mine before... and now she's everybody's.

I'm getting ahead of myself. 

This entry, like most of them usually are, is about a girl. The difference is that, for a change, I wasn't the only person who had caught feelings. At least that's what I thought.

We'll call this girl "M." I met her online, on Twitter, because she randomly appeared on my page in the middle of some random conversation about strippers back in January (lol). We developed a rapport of sorts because Austin's annual music festival, SXSW, was coming up in March. Little did I know, that we would connect so well over the months that followed. 

M and I were on the same page so very often. We joked, we played off each other's conversations, when references were made to pop culture or some public figure or television show or song, she got mine and I got hers. M was also extremely gorgeous. When I met her, I expected her to look a tad bit different - the flash on her camera sometimes made her skin appear lighter than it really was - but she was still extremely gorgeous. I would find out that, like always, there was indeed a catch. M had a boyfriend. And not just a boyfriend, but a guy she'd been with for a while, nearly a year at the time.

Ordinarily, that would have been a red flag. But I enjoyed the conversations that I had with M. We talked damn near daily, but out of respect to their relationship - and perhaps partly because I wanted to tell myself that I was being a "good guy" - I tried not to talk to her very often. But I couldn't resist it. What made it most difficult was when our conversations broached something sexual.

M was very much more open and honest than any young lady I'd met before her. I could tell she was the type to, when she really wanted something, she always got it or found a way to get it. We began to flirt in conversations. And then it got deeper. She called me pet names, like "babe." I shut it down or sidestepped them. Then it got sexual. She admitted on multiple occasions that she wanted to have sex with me. She asked me if I wanted the same. And of course I did. Of course I did. I slipped once and let her know that I did, and that I would want to... if she were single. But she wasn't. So we couldn't.

I remember feeling like I was the dumbest guy in the world. Like, come on. A beautiful girl essentially says that she wants to have sex with you, and that you could get it if you really wanted it. And you shut it 

down. Any smarter man would have taken her up on her offer... taken it further than one day of reckless abandon whereby they both admitted what they'd like to do to each other sexually without consequences. But I was dumb.

M and I are maintaining our friendship. But now I'm feeling like a bystander instead of a participant.

On Twitter, I watch as she has conversations and jokes around with other guys. Friends of mine, or rather, "friends" of mine. And I get jealous. Because the deep conversations we used to have - the ones that hinted towards sexual language, the ones where she flirted with me and where she knew what to say to make me feel like the man, like her man... though I wasn't - they're gone. My expectation is that she's worked things out with her man and therefore has no "use" for me to fulfill those needs or wants of being desired. But I'm paranoid behind the fact that any of my "Twitter friends" may have their own kinds of access to M.

It's a frustrating feeling to have, and a worse position to be in. Because some of them might not know her if it weren't for you sharing her tweets. Part of you liked it when she was your little secret, and when everyone else couldn't see how gorgeous and how funny and how witty she was and hence wouldn't be able to be attracted to her. You feel threatened, but there shouldn't be any feeling threatened or feeling jealous because she's not your girl.

But there is.

And now I'm mad at myself for having someone who made me feel wanted and who seemed to share the feelings and moments with me for a change, and letting her go or pushing her away even because I wanted to do "the right thing" and not help her cheat on her man. I find myself so tempted to tell her - as she claimed her boyfriend once told her - to "go talk to those twitter boys" since they're now giving her the attention I gave her, and she seems to giving them hers, as well. And even more, I find myself tempted to channel Sam Smith and send her one of his songs.

"... And they don't have no award for that... Trophies, trophies, trophies... and they ain't got no award for that/ shit don't come with trophies/ ain't no envelopes to open, I  just do it 'cause I'm 'sposed to..."

I planned to write this weeks ago, back when I first started thinking that I'd lost her. Every time I thought of this piece, Drake's song "Trophies" played in my head. "Trophies" is an equal parts braggadocios and unselfish song; it's really about Drake saying that he's at point where he deserves everything that comes to him, but everything he's done up to this point, he's done with other people in mind as well. He says that there's no reward (or "award") for doing the unselfish thing.

Applying that to this, when it comes to M, I'm reminded that there isn't a reward for being a nice guy. When you are, you may feel good about yourself, but you're left lonely. Doing the right thing doesn't come with trophies.

This is one of those times when I really, really wish it did. M and I may be just friends from this point, perhaps forever, even when - if I were honest - she broke up with her boyfriend like I lowkey wish she would. And me being in the friend zone, for a change, is all my fault... or at least, I put myself there, not the girl. It sucks.

Still Too Young and Dumb to Call It Quits...

It's nearly 2:30 AM and once again I find myself revisiting one of my favorite songs of all time, Jean Grae's "Love Song." I'm trying to remember who put me onto the song initially, but I'm thinking it was someone in a facebook group I was apart of once.

The song, in case you've never heard it, is Jean telling the story of three different girls - though either (both?) of the latter two could be Jean herself - who've struggled in their romantic endeavors, thinking they've got what they wanted, learning otherwise, and trying to keep persevering throughout. Each of the song's initial two verses concludes with the lines, "Still too young and dumb to call it quits," as if to say the person is still too young and hence still too optimistic (which then makes them "too dumb") about the prospect of finding love.

With mere weeks until I turn 28, I find myself relating even more than ever to Jean's song. It used to be because I felt like I was definitely the guy Jean describes in the song's second verse - the guy who's "sweet and honest" but who eventually loses the girl to his best friend because the girl thinks he's more focused on his work than he is on her. I've for the most part purposely kept myself outside of the dating pool this year because I said I wanted to focus on getting myself in order. That doesn't mean that I haven't been interested in people, or that I haven't tried to hang out with young women. Rather, I haven't truly invested myself the way I have in the past in anyone. It helps, perhaps, that I've found an alternative albeit not ideal outlet to direct my feelings and desires for companionship towards, but nothing can replace the real thing.

But what, exactly, IS "the real thing?" At 27 and 28, arguably, nobody takes you at face value anymore. Nobody's really checking for who you are as a person. Instead, the opposite sex is checking for WHERE you are as a person. Are you upwardly mobile? Do you have your own spot? Do you seem to be taking strides towards financial independence and stability? Do you look like you handle your responsibilities? Do you look like a husband? Do you look like a good father? These things matter much later down the line when you start getting up in years like I am.

"Growing, but hopelessly romantic still..."

This causes you to question the genuineness of the opposite sex. If you strip away all the surface dressing, would someone really be checking for me? Now that I have a car, a decent job where I have some kinda income, it's possible that I could enter the dating arena as some kind of contender. But my concern is, I couldn't contend before I had all that. It's interesting. At 28, I'm more scared of ending up alone than ever but more than I am scared that I'll be single forever, I'm terrified that someone will have to "learn" to love me.

"Trying not to have a shallow heart/ But battle scars are deep but reach into the depth of hell and back..."

It shouldn't be that way. Someone shouldn't feel like they have to settle on you because you offer them - and, by extension, a potential family - the best chance at "succeeding" in life. So they marry you because what you have gives them hope, and hopefully over time, they'll learn to love the real you. I'm sure I'm speaking from a jaded place, but at the same time, I know what I'm saying makes some kind of sense. How do make someone, as Jean raps in the song, "your universe, holding the center position" if you can't trust their motives? Why would you make someone your universe if they never thought you were a star before the shine came? Does this mean they're lowkey rooting for you to fail and prove them right in being incompatible for them?

"But it takes some time to realize your own worth/ Come into your own/ Play your mental rebirth..."

I know that my self-confidence and trust issues still require plenty of work. I had hoped the latter, at least, would change as I got older. It has... slowly but surely... like at a snail's pace... improved. With every rejection, it took a hit, but I'm still asking. And with every rejection, I've changed the way I've gone about in asking someone out or attempting to court someone. I'm a hopeless romantic at my core. When I drive around Houston, I take note of places that would be nice to take someone on a date on, or places that might be nice to give a proposal in front of. I still believe in good morning texts and just because gifts and flowers on doorstep - though I don't believe in flowers because they die easily - and cooking dinner for her when she lands it on her presentation, promotion, or with her students... yet I worry that I'm losing a little more faith in these things every day.

I don't know when I'll get my shot to be "that guy" for some woman someday. It may never come. I may never find "her." But I, too, "grew up believing in passion and love." And at 28, I'm still too young and dumb to call it quits. There are no consolation prizes or participation trophies in love, and there shouldn't be. But just once, I'd like to feel what it's like to win. In 2014? Who knows... I'm still writing my own love song.

About "Being Wanted" and The Journalist I Let Go Of

If there's one thing I hate more than anything, it's not being wanted. 

For the longest time, I always felt like that. Hell, in a sense, I still very much do. It's the unfortunate byproduct of being the guy who has friends that girls always compliment. I've certainly never had the privilege of being one of those guys who girls is say is "fine as shit" or who gets talked about because he looks good. I envy that so much. Seriously. I would kill to have been considered super attractive like most of my homeboys are, but that's never been me. It may be one day, when I have money... because money makes people attractive.

If I were honest, though, I can't say that I wasn't wanted. I can only say that the people who at least appeared attracted to me, I never wanted them back. For whatever reason.

A conversation that was brought on partially by twitter and partially by a group that I am in on facebook, referenced the idea of what "counted" as a date, and this in turn led to dates on which you might cook for someone or someone might cook for you. I was reminded of one girl in particular, the first girl, in fact, who cooked for me.

We'll call her Jessica to protect the innocent.

Back in our undergraduate years at UT, Jessica, much like I did, started out trying her damnedest to make some kind of mark on the UT Black Community. My niche was appearing to be a leader in public, but J's battle was a little different. She wanted to be a leader in print. Specifically, she aspired to be a journalist, although it was clear that she was interested in politics as well. Not necessarily to participate directly in them, so much as to serve as a commentator of and about them. She tried to get involved with efforts to reinvigorate the UT Chapter of the National Association of Black Journalists, but this ultimately fell apart. That didn't stop Jessica. Indeed, her ambition was one of the things that attracted people to her, professionally and, I'm sure, romantically as well.

Jessica and I had been friends. We didn't have a super close relationship like that, but whenever I saw her in public, she seemed elated to see me and I admit it was often good seeing her. We also often had great conversations, usually related to campus issues or things affecting Black people at the time. But we both stayed busy.

My first senior year, back in 2008, Jessica did something that completely caught me off-guard. She offered to cook for me. At the time, I had been heavily interested in someone else so I didn't exactly know what that entailed. I had thought that it was just a friendly offering of a sort, and I even offered to cook the dessert so she wouldn't have to do all the work. My laziness, coupled with my obliviousness, resulted in me just buying a frozen strawberry pie from the grocery store at the last minute as my contribution.

So she comes to my apartment. And it's convenient that this weekend, of all weekends, my roommate is actually out of town. So it's just the two of us, and it's about 7:30, 8 PM at night. She calls to let me know she's arrived, and I go downstairs to help her out because she has a few pots and a baking dish. We bring everything upstairs to the apartment and she has everything pretty much pre-prepared, but just has to reheat the broccoli and her chicken dish. I helped her out a little bit, following her instructions to rinse, stir, add water, and the like. The dinner is cooked, we eat, we talk. Mostly minimal conversation about how school is going, graduation that was looming (back when we both thought we might graduate on time), and plans for the future. Jessica had apparently deduced my interest in politics, because she name-dropped some gathering that she was looking into that a statesman was hosting in the city later on that year. I did the dishes for her since she cooked. She gave her a mini-tour of the apartment, she got to see the mess that was my room (though I'd straightened it up, as all men do when they have female company visiting), and I also showed her my movie collection. Jessica noticed that I had "New Jack City" and she said she'd never seen it before. So we decided to watch it together.

We sat on the couch watching it in the dark the whole time. Her sitting very close to me, shoulder to shoulder and leaning her head over. I didn't try anything. I was a gentleman - not just because I respected Jessica, but also because I'd never been in that kind of situation before. And there was also the fact that, admittedly, I hadn't been attracted to her physically. She had a great mind and big plans, and a very bright spirit. But I just wasn't feeling her like that.

The movie ended, and that was that. I walked her out to her car and told her to text me when she got back home safely. We didn't really keep in too much touch after that night, honestly. Now that I'm older, I can see the signs. Now that I'm older, I know that, in college, with a young woman like that (who isn't about games, or flaunting herself sexually), being cooked for is a big deal. Hell, even outside of college once you reach my age, a woman cooking for you is a big deal. I know now that that was a date. I know now that possibly, Jessica was interested in me. As in legitimately interested and attracted to me.

If I had "liked her back," I can't say I would have done things. I can't say I would have wrapped an arm around her shoulder. I can't say I would have tried to kiss her in the dark or something like that. Like I said, back then, when I was 22 and still a virgin, with no experience with women at all... that whole thing was new to me. But now that I'm older, I see the signs. And it's a shame that I wasn't feeling her back. I have no idea what she's doing these days, but I know whatever she's doing, she's laying a foundation to be something big. Likely a political correspondent of some sort.

So I can't say I was never wanted, I guess. But it would have been nice to be liked by someone I actually wanted back. Maybe one day. Maybe one day.

About Taylor's Moms And Keeping Watch

At what point does my being "watchful" evolve into stalking? Or my occasional check-ins start to border on the pathetic? I wonder if I'm slightly just in denial. Telling myself that she values my friendship when, in reality, she might only appreciate my presence when it's convenient.

"Convenient." One of my homeboys is writing a book at the moment that's focused on relationships and he's been kind enough to let me take a look at some of the early chapters. The most recent one he sent me was about "The Friend Zone" - that not-so-coveted position one finds themselves in when they are friends with another person who they catch feelings for, but the feelings aren't mutual on the other end. He wrote that women in general take advantage of men who are "too available," and that being too available is an express route to being friend zoned.

I usually take a lot of pride in being the person who people can come to when they need something. My female friends, especially. I once wrote in an entry that I appreciated my female friends being able to come to me when they needed anything. I understood that that often meant I might be friend-boxed, but I liked knowing that I was that trustworthy and that they felt they could share things with me that they might not have shared with a good majority of other people. But having read my friend's chapter, I'm strongly reconsidering my "availability."

The Leo who I struggled to get over for the better part of almost two years, who I wrote about here, I literally waned myself off of consistent communication with her. That was necessary. Difficult but necessary, because I knew maintaining a friendship with someone I wanted so much more with would be very hard. I have interacted with her a couple of times but not nearly as frequently as I used to. And it was funny a little because when I started being hard to reach, she started doing the most to get in touch with me. But she got engaged this year... and she made a great effort to let me know, even inviting me to her engagement dinner. I didn't go; not so much because I felt some kinda way about it (though I'd be lying if I said I didn't at all) but because I didn't see the point. There was a time when I literally checked in on her, via her facebook and twitter - I watched to see how she was doing, what she was tweeting about, and so on. Not so much anymore.

But bringing this full circle to what prompted my questions at the start of this entry, that same watchful eye of mine rolled over to another recent failure of mine, another girl I tried to go after but who I just wasn't a fit for. lol I have a bad habit of recent, it seems, of being interested in girls with a ratchet side and she had that, but she was also very... she had a light about her. That's what attracted me to her. She moved to Houston. I attempted to build something with her as minimally as I could. It didn't pan out. After she got in a tight spot, I helped her fly back to her home state. I didn't feel entitled to anything. But then I hadn't expected to catch feelings for her the way that I did.

I ask her friends in Florida about her, friends who I developed a rapport with because of her. And I read her writings, I read her tweets. Sometimes I'll follow them. I'll bite back jealousy when she mentions dudes because it's just twitter and there's literally nothing I can do states away. I see the pictures she posts - she models... no, seriously - and she looks gorgeous. She comes to me when she wants to vent occasionally and I do appreciate that. I try to encourage her but also be real with her. The irony is that her friends want me to come down to Florida this summer; I likely won't see her. It'd be nice but it's clear that she won't see me as more than a friend regardless.

So, I ask myself if that kind of "breakaway" will be necessary for her. Maybe my inner masochist "likes" the torture - likes knowing that I can't have her but that I still look out for her like she means something to me (because she does). I hope it isn't necessary. I just hope this isn't creepy or stalkerish to continue to keep watch of her progress.

If only I were more of a street n*gga. lol

The Ride... Or Leaving Your Friends Behind

"You won't feel me until everybody say they love you, but it's not love..."

It's nearly 3 in the morning here in Missouri City, Texas. I'm epically behind on schoolwork that I don't feel like doing, unmotivated, discouraged, and my thoughts are flying all over the place. Primarily because I've had something on my mind for a minute. I got pretty good at holding in vents or my feelings for a while but with so much coming at me now, I feel compelled to unload.

As has become a sort of custom for me, I gave up social networking for Lent. That meant no twitter and no facebook from mid-February on through the last day of March. It's something I do to check myself because I spend a lot of time on social media - I still do, in some ways - and this was the first time that I'd opted to give up both twitter AND facebook (I usually give up one but continue to interact with the other).

A group of friends that I've had since my UT years and I are part of a facebook circle called "The Thread." It's ultimately just a place for us to bullshit but also discuss issues, exchange laughs, personal news, and the like. Shortly before I went on my fast this year, a funny thing happened on The Thread.

My "friends" held what they called "a Bradford roast." I was used to the occasional slander and being poked fun at every now and then on The Thread - for example, there's a running nickname I was "given," "13radford," which mocks my lack of sports knowledge and the fact that I'm wordy - and I could always count on it coming from certain people on there. In this particular occasion, the "roast" was propelled forward by two people I thought were always in my corner when it came to the ridiculing. One of which made the claim that the "Bradford roast" was essentially her "revenge" for me poking fun at her in what I felt was particularly harmless joke.

"... [You] tellin' stories that nobody relate to..."

It was interesting to see my so-called friends bring up so many stories and past memories about me, most specifically about my failed attempts in love. It was interesting to see my so-called friends reference my grandfather in jest. It was interesting to see my so-called friend bring up my failure in one class that we shared together and to reference my failed attempt to holler at her homegirl by bringing her coffee at her job. It was interesting to see a so-called friend whose opinion I valued greatly completely dismantle my attempt to get a girl who, in retrospect, really was "out of my league" and quite stuck up. I watched as a so-called friend really pulled up a graduation picture of myself and a female friend and tore how I looked to shreds. The whole thing was... incredible to witness. It was like watching people who I trusted, whose opinions I valued, who I did care about, completely rip me to shreds.

So-called friends who followed my writings and claimed to support them... claimed to support me... when in reality, it seemed they had no absolutely no respect for the person I was. I laughed because it literally was all I could do to keep from crying. I recalled a conversation that I'd had with another friend a few years back who had, in a sense, "warned" me or attempted to warn me about how those in The Thread may have talked about me. I ignored it. I was foolishly loyal because I just knew MY friends, wouldn't do me like that.

It was convenient, in a sense, that Lent began the day after that "Bradford roast." I was able to take a break from it all, but their words stayed with me. How do you vent about something like that? You don't want to be the guy who "can't take a joke" but at the same time, when you're made to FEEL like a joke, how do you respond to that?Ironically, though I was off facebook, I still had text notifications being sent to my phone about The Thread's conversations... and interestingly enough, even while I was "gone," I was STILL being talked about in a negative light. Was it betrayal? Not really. They were just being honest about how they felt about me and I can't fault them for being honest. In every joke, there's always a little bit of truth.

After the roast was over, one of my so-called friends did send me an email apology, but I took it as completely reactive and so it wasn't sincere to me. I responded cordially. But I really beat myself up those 40 days wracking my brain as to whether the things they said had any merit. I assumed they did, since everyone cosigned them by either laughing along or adding to the roast. When I "returned" to The Thread on the Monday after Easter Sunday, I was given a "welcome" in a sense. But how can you accept a welcome in a place you no longer consider welcoming??

So, as I listen to Drake's song "The Ride," I reflect upon two things in particular. The first, is that this situation forced me to accept that things had changed. I didn't finish what I started at The University of Texas at Austin. And I was already subconsciously killing myself about that. I had felt that The Thread allowed me to at least retain my sense of community and my sense of connection to my UT people even though I wasn't alumni... though I'd always felt detached from them, like I was missing something they didn't have (and although one other person on The Thread didn't finish at UT either, he's still quite welcomed because everyone RESPECTS him). The roast affirmed that feeling of detachment for me - confirmed that I was right to believe that I was merely tolerated, and certainly no longer accepted, assuming I ever was.

The second, is that I may have outgrown them. I think you can care for someone so much or hold some people in such a high regard that, out of respect to them and the respect you have for them, you can't put up it with it when they feed you - pardon my language - bullshit. You HAVE to break away from them just so that the respect and love and admiration you had for them remains intact. Sometimes that means ending a friendship. I don't like ending friendships or cutting people off so that part will be difficult. But if I really expect to still like these people, then I can't allow them to just "tolerate" my presence. The masochist in me wants to stay just to further witness what will be said about me... to further witness the assaults on my character. If I were malicious, or perhaps even a bit more brave, I could have struck back. I could have blasted many of them - though not nearly with the same level of exposure - back just to feel better about myself, but hurt people hurt people and I've never been a revenge minded person (Damn, if I was, though...).

They don't feel me anymore. If they ever did at all. And thus, though my own loyalty should go without question, though I pride myself on being a ride or die... my "ride" with them, for the most part, appears to have ended.

"... and even though they hate you, they gon keep on sayin' that they feel you, nigga!..."

The Woman Who Hated Love (The First Part)

This is just a piece I challenged myself to write waaaaay back when I was trying to do the "30 Poems in 30 Days" Challenge back in June. lol I had intended for it to be sort of two companion pieces, one for the "Man Who Hated Love" and one for the "Woman Who Hated Love," best experienced when read one after the other. Unfortunately, I got heavily stalled in terms of HOW to start the piece and, later on, how to maintain the piece so that it would flow well, not sound TOO repetitive/similar to the "Man" part, and what story I wanted to tell.

I guess I finally found my inspiration. It was too long to put into one sitting, so I decided to split the poem up. So... here's the "First Part" of The Woman Who Hated Love. If you'd like to read "The Man Who Hated Love," the link to that is here.

------------------------- The First Part ---------------------------

She told me, "Fuck dudes.

No, really, fuck dudes.

I used to want to be in love, but if this is what love is,

then I don't really need this, because I really hate feeling wasted and abused"

I know this young lady, she's got a beautiful soul

But over time, it's been hardened and she no longer seems to know

Or think that love is something worth fighting for

She grew up at least believing there was something in store

She only knew her mother, but her grandparents were a literal

couple of role models to her

What they had between them, she hoped to replicate one day

Appreciated how Pawpaw went out of his way

for Grams, and how Grams always had waiting for Pawpaw nice things to say

Princess dreams and she wanted to be Charmed,

but Blessed Charmed, not Lucky - hoped her heart would never be harmed

Had her wedding planned out when she was barely nine years old

Bore a heart of gold but couldn't have anticipated a world so cold

Found her first love in the fifth grade, they bonded over Power Rangers

She was Pink, and he was her Black Knight

Maybe she took it too serious, they were both just kids

Maybe she was too young for pining after and gifting and missing him

Maybe she watched soaps with her Grams too much and that set a tone

So when she saw the boy kissing another girl, she felt done wrong

called him out and slapped him by the swings, intended to embarrass him but

she felt embarrassed too amongst all the laughter

Especially when she was the one who got sent to the Principal's office

After that, up to high school, she mostly worked and kept to herself

Her girlfriends tales' made her curious about sex but she claimed to focus solely on wealth

Did well on her own, asked no one for help

too shy to cheerlead but campaigned to graduate with Honors

of course, the types like her, subtle and more likely to be caught praying

Were the very types upon which dudes up to no good were likely to be caught preying

upon

as a sophomore, got caught slipping at prom, and let a guy slip inside

of her heart as well as her body, then he infected her mind

And the injection was so intense at times, that she even found him penetrating her thoughts

Was this it - the feeling she'd been anticipating since she was a little girl?

This feeling, this falling, making a space for him in her world

Trusting him with her secrets, staring deep in his eyes

Caught up in the Rapture like Anita - slow jams playlists got her open wide

She graduated high school convinced that she'd met The One

He helped her move into her apartment at college, and she was the faithful-est girlfriend

Sought involvement on campus and dismissed other suitors with the quickness

- though she'd be lying if she said a well-suited man in a shirt and tie wasn't her weakness - 

She heard it all - every possible line, solicitation, suggestion

But if she was nothing else, she was loyal; even flirtations were out of the question

Called her man every week, insisted that he come visit her

He told her all the right things, said his schedule was too tight for it

Suspicions arose that she chose to ignore - 

with no evidence, she figured, why bother to provoke a fight for it?

But she would be forced to learn in due time,

that a happy heart sometimes offsets a sound mind

Reconciliation

"I know you got the best love that I ever had
I swear that when I look at you, the time don't pass
Intoxicated without a sip from a glass
Infatuation was real - thought we would last"
- Trey Songz, "Unfortunate"

It's funny. I look back now upon the posts I wrote about you. Not just here, but on facebook. The poems I wrote, two of which admittedly were about you. The story I had written, The Book of Lamentations ... you will never know this, but you inspired it. You inspired one of the characters. The way I'd felt about you after you shut down what we had, is VERY reflective of the feelings the main character felt when his proposal was rejected. And I'd written the story because after you, I doubted myself like I never had before. I felt I needed to write The Book of Lamentations if only to remind myself or reassure myself that I still had "it" - the ability to write and tell a good story. Because the reality was for a few months, I avoided writing because I NEVER, ever wanted anything I'd ever written to give you the impression that I was talking about you.

I look back upon the posts I wrote about you, the poems I wrote, the ones that didn't make it into the public eye... and I don't think it's a stretch at all to say you're the first woman I fell in love with. There were certainly people I'd had deep levels of infatuation for prior to you... but no one else was this hard to get over. No one else was this hard to pretend I didn't have have feelings for them, just because I wanted us to remain friends. No one else has made me feel so tortured because of what I didn't have.

I wish that my effort usurped or at least mattered to you more than what I lack. Think about it - I have no car and no job. Yet... I found a way to do the things for you that mattered. I showed up to your graduation. I showed up to your first open mic. When I said I would treat you out for getting a new job, I did that AND managed to find my way out to where we were eating even though you were beyond rude to me about something I had volunteered to do for you. I suppose that's much of my own fault... because nobody told me to do any of that and by all means I shouldn't have expected your appreciation or consideration in return. I did it because I cared. Because in spite of my own lack, you do deserve the world. And I can't give you that. And apparently, this is why we'll never be.

So... when I showed up this past Wednesday, showed up to your first open mic, I came in there knowing that when that night was over, I would have given up on you. I don't know. I guess I expected a "thanks for coming." I guess I expected more than a hug. I don't know WHAT I expected. All I know is, I saw you read - very well; noticeably nervous, but I loved the passion and energy you displayed throughout the piece - I saw you hang with the friends you'd come out with, and I appreciated that I at least got to meet your goddaughter's mother. I left the open mic early... primarily because I couldn't stand it, being there powerless in that situation... and arranged for them to give you flowers after I had left. I guess you appreciated them. And from your open mic, I went to the strip club! lol because I wanted to feel appreciated.

I used to hope that we'd possibly get back together. That you would allow me a chance to get it right this second time and PROVE to you that I was capable of being the man you desired. But you are spoiled. You are impatient. You know as well as I do that you deserve the world and, consequently, you feel entitled to it on your terms. In the back of my mind, I still want that chance. I'd be lying if I said I didn't. BUT I'm not going to pursue it. Perhaps we can still be friends (hell, that's what we've BEEN being, right?? You've certainly enjoyed that more than I have smh). But I just don't have the effort or fucks to give to want to try to be your man again. Not right now. I hate that you make me feel so inadequate. I do too much which you may see as too little... and that's fine. You're a grown independent woman who ideally wants a grown independent man who can provide her with some degree of security. I can't give you that WHEN you want it.

You'll be moving soon, probably to the East Coast. Up there, perhaps in New York, you'll meet a man who is perhaps more attractive than I am, a man with a well-paying job and a car and a number of fancy things. He will only have so much ambition, since ambition is what you love so much. And he will probably not do as right by you as I would. He will enjoy sleeping with you. He will enjoy making you laugh. He will listen to your poetry when you call him up to read it to him but at the same time, not listen at all. Or, maybe he'll be a poet himself and not care to listen to your work, but constantly hit you up to share his with you. He will possibly do wrong by you. He won't remember that your favorite color is purple (and, now, turquoise). He won't bring you flowers (though he may arrange to send them to you at your job in an act of apology, something I'd contemplated - not for apology reasons but "just because" - but talked myself out many times). And he may not go to Bible Study with you. None of that will matter, because at 25, you will be too thankful to have found a man who has what you want materially and appears to want you at a time when you're thinking you'll never get married. He will reap the rewards of getting the best of you, when all he has to do is give you mediocre effort. The news will drop on facebook. You'll tweet about your "bf." I will be salty and think that should have been me in his place; I may retract myself a bit in Trey Songz and The-Dream lol. Ideally, I'll get over it.

I wrote this down today because I needed to. Because I'm tired of feeling like there's no reciprocity at all. Because I needed to write it somewhere just to get out of my head and get this burden off my mind - on some "Blogger is my pensieve" type shit, maybe. I wish you the best. I promise it. You do deserve what you want, and I would love to see you happy, even if that's not with me. I may not agree with it, but I must accept that. I wrote this down so I could pray about it afterwards. I wrote this down today so I could reconcile my thoughts with my feelings and make it known, so that I ALWAYS come back to this whenever I think about you, that it just wasn't worth it. You are... but the process itself after the first three weeks of July weren't.

But gotdamn... in the words of Trey Songz, "That's unfortunate... that you didn't believe in me."