No one else is good enough for me because no one else is you.
I hate to admit it but I compare them all to you and they never quite measure up. I hate that. Why must I always go back to you?! I’ve met some great guys who probably could have treated me right. But it would have never been as right as you treated me. You were different.
Like sweet tea , shade and love on a perfect day, you made me feel at ease. Like I could jump into the ocean of your love and drown without fear because I knew I’d awake in your arms. Some of them touched me and gave me goosebumps. But unlike with you, I never felt their touch down to my bones. You had a way of touching me and leaving your finger prints etched on my mind. I t would be days later and I’d still feel your warmth. You touch was lasting. Some of them looked at me but you…you saw me. You stared into my brown eyes and saw what I couldn’t show them. What I kept hidden behind that velvet veil of fear. Reserved for someone special. Someone who would be able to handle it. So far, you’ve been the only one special enough to see that part of me. Your lips, like pillows of softness and everything I ever wanted. They’re the only lips I remember.
It’s sad but no one is good enough for me because I can’t get over you. I wish I could just let go and move on but my nostrils won’t allow another scent to bring them back to happiness like yours did. My fingers don’t recognize anyone else’s skin. My heart doesn’t play the same song it played for you.
Beat. Beat. Beat. Skip. Beat.
So what am I to do now?
I tried to move on but you won’t let me!
You’ve still got this hold on me and until I find another who fills this cold void you’ve left, I’ll continue to caress these memories we made together.
I wanted to love you. I really did.
I made every effort to try to feel something…anything.
I’ve stared at your face the way people who are in love do when they’re in that state of amazement. Amazed that such a simple face could make them question every other face before it. Were they really as beautiful as this face they’re now looking at? I looked into your eyes, half hoping to at least catch a glimpse of the top layer of your soul. But all I saw were dingy eyes staring back at me…hopeful.
I used to think I didn’t love you because I didn’t know you as well as I probably could have. So I made it a point to ask you about your childhood. Were you ever bullied? Ever had a tree house? How’d you get that scar? I sat through countless stories about birthday parties and bad haircuts but none of them captivated me enough to want you forever.
As we sat on the grass that one Saturday afternoon you like to refer to as “the day you knew you loved me”, I listened intently as you described your feelings for me. I thought maybe if I closed my eyes, I’d be able to capture the invisible feelings bouncing in the air like fireflies in the night. I must have looked silly but I really was trying.
For a while I felt bad because I really did like you. I just didn’t love you. And no matter what I did…
I just couldn’t love you.
We sat silently in the car as we both searched for the right words to say. I couldn’t think of anything so I turned the radio on. You looked at me with a puzzled look plastered on your tear stained face.
“You’d rather listen to the radio than talk to me?”
And at that moment you said what I was afraid to admit to. Yes, it had come to that. I thought about telling you how unhappy I had become lately and how you didn’t make me feel special anymore. But you knew all of this already because you looked away and turned the volume up. As we sang along with Mark Mathis, we both knew that that was the best way to end things.
I HATE getting asked that damn, stupid question.
“You’re such an amazing girl. Why are you still single?”
Bro, don’t ask me that!
I don’t know why I’m still single but since I’m asked the question so much I’ve come up with some pre packaged answers so I’ll always be ready.
1. I’m not good at remembering important things.
My ex once walked home (about two hours walk, at 11:30 at night) because I forgot to pick him up from work. No one wants to date a girl who can’t remember that the day she shared her first kiss with you was May 19th. Or was it March? See!
2. I’m really gassy.
At first, it’s cool. A little burp here and there followed by a cute little “excuse me, babe.” Then it’s a fart that slips out while laughing too hard. It finally gets to a point where you realize that I emit more gas than a Hummer and it’s no longer cute. “It’s just nasty, girl.”
3. I’m clingy.
I’m afraid of losing people. It’s happened so much that you’d think I’d be used it by now but nope. It still scares me to think that I could get attached to someone and live them and then, poof! They’re gone. So I cling on to you in hopes that you won’t leave me. Not in a psycho kinda way but enough to make me undateable, I guess.
4. I write about everyone.
This really shouldn’t be a problem but apparently it is. I live writing. It’s what I do. If I like you, I’m going to write about you. Sometimes I’ll write things that might embarrass you cause they’re so cute and all that other stuff but it’s what I do!
5. I’m a know-it-all.
I correct everyone. I can’t help it. If we’re texting and you use ‘they’re’ instead of ‘their’, I’m going to correct you. I know it annoys the crap out of people but it annoys me to date someone who doesn’t feel the need to use proper grammar.
So, as you can see, I have my flaws. And while these reasons aren’t reason enough for me to be single, I’ll continue using them until I have a reason not to.
I’m in love with myself. Like seriously, in love. I’m not conceited. I’m not full of myself. I’m just aware. Aware of the fact that I am a beautiful individual.
When I was younger, I hated looking in the mirror. I’ve always had a dark complexion and for the first 14 years of my life, I hated it. I hated the fact that my friends were all fair skinned and “pretty”.
They were never called blacky, tar baby, midnight. They never had to worry about wearing colors that were too bright or too dark. They never had to endure the pain of ridicule from kids of all ages. They were never made fun of when the lights were turned off during movie time in class. Damn, kids were mean.
I envied my friends and their “beautiful” skin. But something changed when I got to high school.
I became fearless!
As a freshman in high school I had a crush on a senior names S. he was fine and I was sprung. We never dated but what did happen was even better. Sometimes, someone (or something) else has to step in and show you what you’ve been unable to see for so long. S once told me that I was beautiful. Never hearing that before, I laughed. No one ever referred to be as ‘beautiful’ before. I was never beautiful. I was dark and ugly. My hair was rough. My nose was greasy and my self esteem was crushed. And here was this handsome man calling me beautiful. I had to laugh.
But he was serious. He said I had this rare form of beauty that blessed every eye that had the privilege of gazing upon it. It may sound corny but at the time, at that age, at that uncomfortable stage of my life…it was all I needed.
From then on, I made it my mission to find that beauty that he saw. And thus began my search. I no longer looked at my dark skin as a burden but a blessing. A blessing kissed by the sun. It was a gift passed down from generations of beautiful, black, strong individuals who felt I’d adequately do it justice. I no longer cared what everyone else though about me because I now saw myself for what I really was: me.
I may not be the best writer or singer or artist but dammit, I’m the best Rose I’ve ever met!
Today is Wednesday, which means it’s been a whole week since we last talked. I’d love to say I’m sad but the truth is, I’ve become immune to the hurt you bring. When we were walking down the pier and you went on and on about how you didn’t know what you wanted anymore and how you were unsure if you wanted to be with me, all I could think about was whether or not I turned the stove off. Did you hear that?! While you were talking about the fate of our relationship all I could think about was the stove. THE STOVE! So now as I stand in front of your mother as she asks when we last talked, I’m cold…emotionless.
“About a week ago, I think.”
The lack of emotion on my face must have alarmed her cause she suddenly burst into tears, her breathing staggered.
“He’s…gone! They found his body in the lake. They said he jumped off the bridge but I just don’t believe it!” she said between sobs.
At that very moment I prayed more than I ever prayed before. I prayed for hurt, fear, sorrow. Any emotion at all. But my prayers went unanswered so I stood there, dry eyed and waiting. I waited for the emotions to come flooding in. They never came. Instead of being sad, I grew angry. This isn’t how our story was supposed to end. You took the easy way out (as you usually did). You were supposed to live with the hurt and anguish just as I had for all those years. You were supposed to wake up every morning, regretting the decision to ever let me go. You were supposed to get teary eyed when you saw me walking with the new man in my life. You were supposed to live with the hurt that I’ve been living with ever since you broke up with me.
Finally, I cried.
I cried for me. For my selfish thoughts. And I cried for you.
You should have stuck around.
I wrote a love note to a boy once. With intricately placed adjectives and sweet words, I told him how his smile was the sunrise that awoke my soul. I told him how his voice bounced around my head like shooting stars on a lovely night, putting me in a place I’ve never been. I thought of every metaphor that would properly explain how I longed to be the morning dew, placed gently on him, the grass. It was beautiful. I explained how his eyes were a calming escape. He was my escape. I beautifully placed all these sentences onto thin blue lines so he’d know exactly how I felt.
He wrote me back and told me to eat shit.
That’s when I knew I wanted to be a writer.
So here I am today, no longer writing love letters to
assholes boys but still trying to create masterpieces out of broken words and disturbing thoughts. In the process of trying to find myself as a writer, I’ve ultimately began to find myself as a person. I know it sounds super cliche but it’s true. Day by day, I realize how much of a beautiful, crazy, spontaneous, bubbly, shiny, outrageous, loud, quiet, flamboyant, FEARLESS young woman I am and I love it!