Twenty-three. I’m in tears….as if I was decades older, looking back on lost memories. Here, an old woman without you, for I lost you so many years ago.
Twenty-three. I’m in tears…mourning a loss I never experienced because the very thought of any kind of resemblance of a possibility of losing you hurts me more than anything I’ve REALLY experienced ever did.
Twenty-three. These late-night emotions are triggered by the imaginary circumstances glaring out at me on the T.V. Oh, how I relate to the main character too well. Feel his loss too well. Cry so easily.
Twenty-three. I am twenty-three. Not one-hundred-and-three…and you’re still here. So beautiful….so real…so brown….so black…so African…so loved…so mine…
I think it’s safe for my tears to dry.