Last two posts were pretty soap-boxy for me. I guess they were things I needed to say, though not necessarily things you needed to read about... not apologizing, just saying that I noticed.
Lately I've been finding inspiration in all aspects of my life. In meeting up with old students of mine, in my dreams (very vivid lately), in music, in movies, even in TV commercials. But the biggest inspiration in my life is the one I don't talk directly about, because its too new and too private and too special for me to blog about...
Let's just say that, apparently, God still has lots of surprises in store for me in this life. My heart is wide open, as are my eyes, but I have yet to see something to turn me away. Instead, I feel alive, head-to-toe amazing for the first time in a very long time. The timing sucks, the potential for hurt is huge, but, like I have taken to telling people, you only live once.
I find that when I sit and think about where I am today as opposed to a year ago, its almost like I am thinking of someone else. There is love in my heart for my ex - he will be there forever and I make sure he knows it. But my heart, previously broken too many times to count, is an amazingly resilient thing. It expands as it heals, makes room for more in my life. It beats and reminds me that I haven't died, that I'm still young enough to bounce back, and since when did I give a flying fuck about rules anyway?
So here I am, being cryptic as heck, because its never my intention to cause anyone pain. But I have been blessed with something more in my life. It makes me laugh at everything, smile at nothing, and dream...
Decided that I should get off my soapbox, stop dwelling in the past, and return to making it work every day. I don't know what the future holds for me, whose hand I will be holding in ten years, whose child I will share, where I will be, or who else will belong to my heart. But I'm ready for it. Whatever it is.
So come on Universe... Bring. It.
Maluhia!
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Friday, March 26, 2010
Say it Loud!!!
Last week I went on a bit of a tear, talking about religion so I thought "Let's keep the ball rolling" and talk about race. Specifically, what does it mean to be "Black, African-American, or Negro", according to the 2010 U.S. Census...
Besides being completely put off by that question on the census (and I'm not telling which one I checked, it's probably not the one you think), I was having a conversation with friends and the question came up about my "blackness" and whether I was "black enough"...
First thought in my mind was "Black enough for what?". Second thought was "Okay, I'm offended". I know it wasn't meant to be a racial comment, nor was it in any way mean-spirited. But it got me to thinking about what it means to be Black, for myself at least.
This is an argument I have been fighting for years, having too many people tell me that I was "trying to be white" or "not black enough". Growing up, it was confusing to hear. I would look at my father and think "he's Black" and then look at my mother "yep, she's Black too"... and I would look at myself and wonder what exactly about me wasn't quite "Black".
Later, with several relationship years under my belt, after having a conversation with my ex-husband, who has told me several times of his preference for "black women", I asked him if there was something "not-Black" about me. His answer? I wasn't "ghetto"-enough, loud enough, I didn't act like I was going to "cut" him on a daily basis, I wasn't a big hip-hop fan, I occasionally listened to country music, I watched "Friends" re-runs, I had a major crush thing for George Clooney...
Of course, this was all said in an easy, joking tone, him not realizing how big of a deal it was to me. In Miami, especially in the part I grew up in, you were Black or you were Hispanic, and if you were Black, you had to be prepared to deal with being a minority to the second power. I never had a problem with race, making friends with everybody, eager to learn about different cultures, wanting to believe that it was/is possible to be color-blind.
I'm older now and not as foolish.
There is no way to live color-blind. In fact, those same people who try to tell me they are color-blind, they're the same ones who swear they are "blacker" than I am. :) I love them, but I also pity the fact that, in refusing to acknowledge a difference, they lose out on an opportunity to see what we, as a people, are really capable of. The contributions, the culture, the change.
When I see a person - any person - I do notice color, but I don't let it stop me. I'm not afraid to be the only "black person" in a room. I do take offense when I suddenly become the "token minority" in the room. It burns my ass, I'll tell you.
There was a time when I didn't want to be Black. It made me different in school. Teachers would call my name during that first roll call and I would get a "look". Kind of like they were telling me not to be trouble. I'm not a trouble-maker, but because of my name, my race, my skin color, it was assumed that I would fit into some kind of stereotype. I had a bit of self-hatred because of it, and I envied my sisters for their lighter skin, straighter hair...
When I left Miami, almost three years ago, I encountered something similar, people trying to fit me into a box because of my name, skin color, race. I swear, at that first school, it was one surprise after another for them. My husband was a handsome Latino. I spoke a little spanish. I didn't wear a weave. I was nice to everybody. I made blondies and gourmet coffee. I listened to Linkin Park, loud and proud.
I had someone stage-whisper that I thought I was "too good". In reality, I was just being myself.
And that's what my point is really. For me, Black is not a state-of-mind, it's no more a choice than homosexuality. You can't stop being Black anymore than you can start. You can't act Black, sound Black, look Black... either you are or you aren't.
As soon as I accepted that, it made it easier to look at myself in the mirror and smile. To look at my Black brothers and sisters and smile. To wish for a little brown girl or little brown boy of my own, to raise, to share, to love, to make proud...
Because, in the end, my heart may be color-blind but my brain is more realistic. I can see beautiful in every race, in every face, and that in itself is something I pride myself on.
Makes me feel a bit like James Brown though, because in the end I am a beautiful Black woman - and I'm damn proud of it!
Aman Malay!
Besides being completely put off by that question on the census (and I'm not telling which one I checked, it's probably not the one you think), I was having a conversation with friends and the question came up about my "blackness" and whether I was "black enough"...
First thought in my mind was "Black enough for what?". Second thought was "Okay, I'm offended". I know it wasn't meant to be a racial comment, nor was it in any way mean-spirited. But it got me to thinking about what it means to be Black, for myself at least.
This is an argument I have been fighting for years, having too many people tell me that I was "trying to be white" or "not black enough". Growing up, it was confusing to hear. I would look at my father and think "he's Black" and then look at my mother "yep, she's Black too"... and I would look at myself and wonder what exactly about me wasn't quite "Black".
Later, with several relationship years under my belt, after having a conversation with my ex-husband, who has told me several times of his preference for "black women", I asked him if there was something "not-Black" about me. His answer? I wasn't "ghetto"-enough, loud enough, I didn't act like I was going to "cut" him on a daily basis, I wasn't a big hip-hop fan, I occasionally listened to country music, I watched "Friends" re-runs, I had a major crush thing for George Clooney...
Of course, this was all said in an easy, joking tone, him not realizing how big of a deal it was to me. In Miami, especially in the part I grew up in, you were Black or you were Hispanic, and if you were Black, you had to be prepared to deal with being a minority to the second power. I never had a problem with race, making friends with everybody, eager to learn about different cultures, wanting to believe that it was/is possible to be color-blind.
I'm older now and not as foolish.
There is no way to live color-blind. In fact, those same people who try to tell me they are color-blind, they're the same ones who swear they are "blacker" than I am. :) I love them, but I also pity the fact that, in refusing to acknowledge a difference, they lose out on an opportunity to see what we, as a people, are really capable of. The contributions, the culture, the change.
When I see a person - any person - I do notice color, but I don't let it stop me. I'm not afraid to be the only "black person" in a room. I do take offense when I suddenly become the "token minority" in the room. It burns my ass, I'll tell you.
There was a time when I didn't want to be Black. It made me different in school. Teachers would call my name during that first roll call and I would get a "look". Kind of like they were telling me not to be trouble. I'm not a trouble-maker, but because of my name, my race, my skin color, it was assumed that I would fit into some kind of stereotype. I had a bit of self-hatred because of it, and I envied my sisters for their lighter skin, straighter hair...
When I left Miami, almost three years ago, I encountered something similar, people trying to fit me into a box because of my name, skin color, race. I swear, at that first school, it was one surprise after another for them. My husband was a handsome Latino. I spoke a little spanish. I didn't wear a weave. I was nice to everybody. I made blondies and gourmet coffee. I listened to Linkin Park, loud and proud.
I had someone stage-whisper that I thought I was "too good". In reality, I was just being myself.
And that's what my point is really. For me, Black is not a state-of-mind, it's no more a choice than homosexuality. You can't stop being Black anymore than you can start. You can't act Black, sound Black, look Black... either you are or you aren't.
As soon as I accepted that, it made it easier to look at myself in the mirror and smile. To look at my Black brothers and sisters and smile. To wish for a little brown girl or little brown boy of my own, to raise, to share, to love, to make proud...
Because, in the end, my heart may be color-blind but my brain is more realistic. I can see beautiful in every race, in every face, and that in itself is something I pride myself on.
Makes me feel a bit like James Brown though, because in the end I am a beautiful Black woman - and I'm damn proud of it!
Aman Malay!
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Just Like the Water...
I was immersed in religion from birth - surrounded and suffocated by people who earnestly wanted me to believe but wouldn't answer my questions. It was hard to rectify the beautiful image I held of a Creator in my heart with the one I was shown, commanded to believe in. I tried to conform, I tried to live the life I was told would be the redemption for my soul - that would lead to an everlasting paradise filled with loved ones...
But I didn't believe in it.
When I found love, the human to human kind, it was in me to attempt to "save" that man through conversion, even though, in my heart, I knew that the love I was experiencing had already been sent by God - so why was change required? I didn't understand, and I understood even less when those same people, who had held my hand as I grew up, kindly tried to keep me from asking too many questions that they didn't have the answers to, who could not understand that my expanding heart did not require those I loved to believe the same way I did, turned their backs on me completely. I was left floundering and wondering how it could be that I was working towards a future full of all the people I loved - but when I embraced love, somehow it was wrong because we went to different churches.
But its a different kind of love that occupies my thoughts today.
I used to remember hearing the parents ask their children where Jehovah was... and seeing them point skyward. But, knowing and accepting that we were made in God's image, wouldn't that mean that there is a bit of God in all of us? Isn't that a much more beautiful idea, that the physical representation of God's love resides in our hearts, as the only proof of existence needed?
I can expand on that.
There have been many times in my life, in the lives of those around me, when I am sure that miracles have occurred. There have been times when I've felt so filled with something - more than love, more than words - that I believe it the work of more than I can humbly comprehend, much less attempt to understand and name.
Living in Charlotte, the forgone conclusion is that I am a Christian.
I'm really not. I find the label limiting. I read recently in a book that the minute we decide we know who and what God is, we are guilty of hubris, as labelling is an act of control, and who are we to think we can control God?
More, I have a belief that I cannot explain, a certainty that the world progresses as it needs to, an understanding that, when I am feeling my most vulnerable, that I am protected, when I am at my lowest, that I am loved.
So, if anyone wants to burn me as a heretic, I ask you if its because you believe that the God you claim to love is more than mine? Is it because I haven't said anything that makes sense, so it must be wrong? Too honest for ya?
Well, one more thing and then you can write me off if you want - I really don't care, as this is my blog :):
Do you really believe that those "good works" you profess to do are going to get you into heaven? Did you forget the parable of the Old Beggar Woman, who willingly gave all she had, though it was really of no use to anyone in such a paltry amount? Because it was the wealth of her heart, her belief, the wanting to give as an act of love, which was worth more gold than all the stars in the sky....
I remember that.
Bless up!
But I didn't believe in it.
When I found love, the human to human kind, it was in me to attempt to "save" that man through conversion, even though, in my heart, I knew that the love I was experiencing had already been sent by God - so why was change required? I didn't understand, and I understood even less when those same people, who had held my hand as I grew up, kindly tried to keep me from asking too many questions that they didn't have the answers to, who could not understand that my expanding heart did not require those I loved to believe the same way I did, turned their backs on me completely. I was left floundering and wondering how it could be that I was working towards a future full of all the people I loved - but when I embraced love, somehow it was wrong because we went to different churches.
But its a different kind of love that occupies my thoughts today.
I used to remember hearing the parents ask their children where Jehovah was... and seeing them point skyward. But, knowing and accepting that we were made in God's image, wouldn't that mean that there is a bit of God in all of us? Isn't that a much more beautiful idea, that the physical representation of God's love resides in our hearts, as the only proof of existence needed?
I can expand on that.
There have been many times in my life, in the lives of those around me, when I am sure that miracles have occurred. There have been times when I've felt so filled with something - more than love, more than words - that I believe it the work of more than I can humbly comprehend, much less attempt to understand and name.
Living in Charlotte, the forgone conclusion is that I am a Christian.
I'm really not. I find the label limiting. I read recently in a book that the minute we decide we know who and what God is, we are guilty of hubris, as labelling is an act of control, and who are we to think we can control God?
More, I have a belief that I cannot explain, a certainty that the world progresses as it needs to, an understanding that, when I am feeling my most vulnerable, that I am protected, when I am at my lowest, that I am loved.
So, if anyone wants to burn me as a heretic, I ask you if its because you believe that the God you claim to love is more than mine? Is it because I haven't said anything that makes sense, so it must be wrong? Too honest for ya?
Well, one more thing and then you can write me off if you want - I really don't care, as this is my blog :):
Do you really believe that those "good works" you profess to do are going to get you into heaven? Did you forget the parable of the Old Beggar Woman, who willingly gave all she had, though it was really of no use to anyone in such a paltry amount? Because it was the wealth of her heart, her belief, the wanting to give as an act of love, which was worth more gold than all the stars in the sky....
I remember that.
Bless up!
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Thunder... and Lightning
Ever wake up just knowing you are about to get into some trouble? The kind that you can't post on your Facebook because your mom might read about it, the kind you tell your best friend about immediately so she is forewarned and fore-armed?
I should have known when I woke up and it was dark outside. It wasn't late and it wasn't early - it was worse. A thunderstorm. Full-bodied clouds just waiting to burst, distant earthy rumbling, random golden flashes...
Thunderstorms got me into a whole lotta trouble in high school. I don't know if it was the promise of rain (warm, wet, all-consuming), the fact that I didn't give a damn if my clothes were brand new, if I'd just bought those shoes, if I'd just gotten my hair done... I would walk out of the building at 2:30, and if it was gray skies, my boyfriend got the "look"... and man his face would light up like Christmas morning (Hot Damn!).
I'm sorry if you know me in real life - because this is a side of myself I keep secret. Who among us is so eager to let the world know that, hey! that honor student over there? She goes nuts when there's a hurricane warning (wink, wink).
I remember a time at the library (and for that boy so long ago, most of our stories start like this), it was raining a hot rain and we were making out outside of the judicial center. There was literally steam rising off of our clothes, and the rain felt like someone was pouring hot water over us. That boy told me it was the sexiest thing in his life, the look I gave him, soaking wet, water running down my face, and not giving a damn about what time it was, or who could see, or whether we should or not (we were outside!)....
Ah, memories. :)
I haven't felt that way in a long time, where every rumble of thunder seemed to roll out from my chest, where I felt that there was lightning in my fingertips, shooting from my eyes, crackling from my lips. It's a huntress kind of feeling - you know what you are, what you want, and heaven help anyone who tries to get in your way.
Yesterday I felt that - all of that - in my car driving, listening to D'Angelo sing about "whenever it rains, I feel this way" and trying to hold onto myself, trying not to let the trouble free...
Because I am what you could call a 'good girl'. Always been that way - except for when it rains. When it rains, I'm bad....
...and so much better.
I should have known when I woke up and it was dark outside. It wasn't late and it wasn't early - it was worse. A thunderstorm. Full-bodied clouds just waiting to burst, distant earthy rumbling, random golden flashes...
Thunderstorms got me into a whole lotta trouble in high school. I don't know if it was the promise of rain (warm, wet, all-consuming), the fact that I didn't give a damn if my clothes were brand new, if I'd just bought those shoes, if I'd just gotten my hair done... I would walk out of the building at 2:30, and if it was gray skies, my boyfriend got the "look"... and man his face would light up like Christmas morning (Hot Damn!).
I'm sorry if you know me in real life - because this is a side of myself I keep secret. Who among us is so eager to let the world know that, hey! that honor student over there? She goes nuts when there's a hurricane warning (wink, wink).
I remember a time at the library (and for that boy so long ago, most of our stories start like this), it was raining a hot rain and we were making out outside of the judicial center. There was literally steam rising off of our clothes, and the rain felt like someone was pouring hot water over us. That boy told me it was the sexiest thing in his life, the look I gave him, soaking wet, water running down my face, and not giving a damn about what time it was, or who could see, or whether we should or not (we were outside!)....
Ah, memories. :)
I haven't felt that way in a long time, where every rumble of thunder seemed to roll out from my chest, where I felt that there was lightning in my fingertips, shooting from my eyes, crackling from my lips. It's a huntress kind of feeling - you know what you are, what you want, and heaven help anyone who tries to get in your way.
Yesterday I felt that - all of that - in my car driving, listening to D'Angelo sing about "whenever it rains, I feel this way" and trying to hold onto myself, trying not to let the trouble free...
Because I am what you could call a 'good girl'. Always been that way - except for when it rains. When it rains, I'm bad....
...and so much better.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
For your eyes only
When I was a little girl, I found myself in awe of the power of words. Of course, I was inundated with negative ones, realizing early on that words could hurt. Being a sensitive person, words were used to constantly chip away at my self esteem... until I learned that there were other kinds of words, building words, healing words, even loving words.
I truthfully cannot remember hearing my parents tell me they loved me, especially in my early life. They probably did - they say it enough now. But my memory, so vivid over little things (collecting rolly-pollies with my sister, digging up the backyard to make a garden that my dad ran over with his lawnmower the very next day, crawling under the backyard trailer to help my dog give birth to her puppies) cannot find a time when those words were spoken to me - until I was in high school and it was a boy saying them...
I will tell you, hearing that someone could love me, with the weirdness, the lack of grace, the general teenage awkwardness mixed together with a worldly outlook that didn't seem to fit in anywhere... I will tell you, it was frightening and liberating all at the same time.
Once I believed it, that is.
There is a part of me that will always believe that it was hearing those words, honestly given, that have allowed my heart to be as open as it is. Once you realize that you can love one person, it is a very simple thing to fall in love with so many others. And I did, more times then I can count. The very word - love - is probably the most powerful word there is. It is noun, adjective, verb, healer, saviour, creator. It can be tossed around with abandon or held tight to one's chest, whispered, texted, sung, screamed, without losing an ounce of its power.
Every person I have ever loved in my life continues to thrive within my heart, whether they are near or far. And for every person I hold there, there seems to grow even more space, for more to fill.
And every time I say 'I love you' to someone, whether its for the first time or the millionth, I say it carefully, as those words, more powerful than anything, more precious than anything, (isn't it the only thing required by God?), are a promise from me.
No matter how we end things, if they end, or if you move away and years pass before we speak again, or if its too late for me to say it one more time because you are already gone from this world, my love - like my heart - is a constant but growing thing.
And if you have yet to hear it from me, if I am the first one (just like that boy so long ago) in your life to tell you, or if you think I do, but you aren't quite sure... let me make this very clear.
I love you.
I truthfully cannot remember hearing my parents tell me they loved me, especially in my early life. They probably did - they say it enough now. But my memory, so vivid over little things (collecting rolly-pollies with my sister, digging up the backyard to make a garden that my dad ran over with his lawnmower the very next day, crawling under the backyard trailer to help my dog give birth to her puppies) cannot find a time when those words were spoken to me - until I was in high school and it was a boy saying them...
I will tell you, hearing that someone could love me, with the weirdness, the lack of grace, the general teenage awkwardness mixed together with a worldly outlook that didn't seem to fit in anywhere... I will tell you, it was frightening and liberating all at the same time.
Once I believed it, that is.
There is a part of me that will always believe that it was hearing those words, honestly given, that have allowed my heart to be as open as it is. Once you realize that you can love one person, it is a very simple thing to fall in love with so many others. And I did, more times then I can count. The very word - love - is probably the most powerful word there is. It is noun, adjective, verb, healer, saviour, creator. It can be tossed around with abandon or held tight to one's chest, whispered, texted, sung, screamed, without losing an ounce of its power.
Every person I have ever loved in my life continues to thrive within my heart, whether they are near or far. And for every person I hold there, there seems to grow even more space, for more to fill.
And every time I say 'I love you' to someone, whether its for the first time or the millionth, I say it carefully, as those words, more powerful than anything, more precious than anything, (isn't it the only thing required by God?), are a promise from me.
No matter how we end things, if they end, or if you move away and years pass before we speak again, or if its too late for me to say it one more time because you are already gone from this world, my love - like my heart - is a constant but growing thing.
And if you have yet to hear it from me, if I am the first one (just like that boy so long ago) in your life to tell you, or if you think I do, but you aren't quite sure... let me make this very clear.
I love you.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
The Last Constant Heart
One of the things I always prided myself on in my relationships is loyalty. To betray someone I loved was inconceivable to me - no matter the circumstances, no matter if those loyal feelings were earned or reciprocated. At times, this has made me seem weak, almost like a pushover...
But those who know me best, know that there is a fighter in me, that I am one of the strongest people you will ever meet - because of my constancy. If there is no one else you can count on, you can always count on me, no matter how much time may have passed since last we spoke.
This is why I do not like making enemies. Sometimes it seems that these people pop out of the wood works, ready to hate on any good I try to do. Sometimes they act as saboteurs - people who cannot live a happy life unless they are actively trying to ruin someone else's. This is one way to make the fighter come out of me - and I rarely will fight for myself, choosing rather to engage in the battles of others.
But, lately, I have been in battle with myself - specifically my constant heart. I am one of those people who chooses her loves carefully, treading lightly, asking every question until I am sure it is safe to reveal my heart - to give my heart. It is the most precious thing I have to give, and the most wonderful present to receive.
I have chosen wrongly in the past and given my heart to people determined to test and hurt and crush my heart, in an effort to see how very far they can take their cruelty - sometimes blissfully unaware of what the are doing, at least consciously. But do they really think that, just because I am still standing, still smiling, still around, that it doesn't hurt like hell? My heart isn't bulletproof you know.
Recently, I have been trying to regain the trust of my heart - having too long neglected her needs, putting her in situations that were unhealthy for her, allowing her to be battered, bruised, and broken. I don't blame her, my heart. After so many years, not sure I would trust me completely either. But I have found that, being on my own, trying to grow, daring to change... I need her most desperately. When there is no one around to hug but yourself, no one to kiss the boo-boos, no one to laugh hysterically at random things... it is a dangerous state to be in while heartless.
What would I say to my heart if I could?
I would tell her that she is the very essence of who I am, that she makes me what I am. I would say that she is the most beautiful part of me. I would remind her of how very good we are together, how, with her happy, the light just radiates through me. I know I have underestimated her - I know that she is my link to the Divine, the part of me that comes direct from God - a gift. I would tell her that, above all things, I want to protect her, but that I will not lie - she may be put into harms way yet again... maybe soon, maybe not. But it is my hope that, when ready, she will be willing to give what she always has - loyalty, devotion, hope, care... I want very much for her to be happy again.
I don't know if my words would be enough to make her return, to make her stay.
But I have faith in my constant heart. She is a rare breed, a dying species. Too many hearts today do not share her constancy, are too shielded to even attempt to chase a happy that may end in despair.... but not my heart, no not her.
She's a fighter.
But those who know me best, know that there is a fighter in me, that I am one of the strongest people you will ever meet - because of my constancy. If there is no one else you can count on, you can always count on me, no matter how much time may have passed since last we spoke.
This is why I do not like making enemies. Sometimes it seems that these people pop out of the wood works, ready to hate on any good I try to do. Sometimes they act as saboteurs - people who cannot live a happy life unless they are actively trying to ruin someone else's. This is one way to make the fighter come out of me - and I rarely will fight for myself, choosing rather to engage in the battles of others.
But, lately, I have been in battle with myself - specifically my constant heart. I am one of those people who chooses her loves carefully, treading lightly, asking every question until I am sure it is safe to reveal my heart - to give my heart. It is the most precious thing I have to give, and the most wonderful present to receive.
I have chosen wrongly in the past and given my heart to people determined to test and hurt and crush my heart, in an effort to see how very far they can take their cruelty - sometimes blissfully unaware of what the are doing, at least consciously. But do they really think that, just because I am still standing, still smiling, still around, that it doesn't hurt like hell? My heart isn't bulletproof you know.
Recently, I have been trying to regain the trust of my heart - having too long neglected her needs, putting her in situations that were unhealthy for her, allowing her to be battered, bruised, and broken. I don't blame her, my heart. After so many years, not sure I would trust me completely either. But I have found that, being on my own, trying to grow, daring to change... I need her most desperately. When there is no one around to hug but yourself, no one to kiss the boo-boos, no one to laugh hysterically at random things... it is a dangerous state to be in while heartless.
What would I say to my heart if I could?
I would tell her that she is the very essence of who I am, that she makes me what I am. I would say that she is the most beautiful part of me. I would remind her of how very good we are together, how, with her happy, the light just radiates through me. I know I have underestimated her - I know that she is my link to the Divine, the part of me that comes direct from God - a gift. I would tell her that, above all things, I want to protect her, but that I will not lie - she may be put into harms way yet again... maybe soon, maybe not. But it is my hope that, when ready, she will be willing to give what she always has - loyalty, devotion, hope, care... I want very much for her to be happy again.
I don't know if my words would be enough to make her return, to make her stay.
But I have faith in my constant heart. She is a rare breed, a dying species. Too many hearts today do not share her constancy, are too shielded to even attempt to chase a happy that may end in despair.... but not my heart, no not her.
She's a fighter.
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