Woman

There's this woman who I haven't met yet. And I've been in love with her ever since we started our digital contact.

She told me I've been big headed lately. She said

"It's like you're not looking at yourself anymore & if you are it's only a fraction of what you used to do, you come up with one albeit brilliant but still limited idea, the audience goes mad, your ego is satisfied and your dazzling brain has nothing more to do."

Reading these words threw me into a despair that I couldn't shake. I was angry with myself for allowing this woman to have such an effect on me. My sudden sadness at her words made me angry with myself. Who is she to you? I asked myself. There is only you, I told myself. And then I realized that I was enjoying the despair. It was fitting. It felt like putting on a sweater that I hadn't worn in a while. I went outside for a walk, listening to Ghostpoet, and I relished the role I was playing. It made me smile to be sad. I was the scorned artist for the entire world to see, to gawk at, to dissect.

And then I went into Manhattan and met up with an old friend from high school. Being ensnared in her world, her reality for a minute allowed me to break free of my own sadness. And I did it fluidly. There was no opposition once I realized, without thought, once I really felt that my emotions are outerwear. I shed them and put on others with the ease of actual clothing.

And as I was headed home, I began listening to my mixtape. And my mind started doing something, that it's been avoiding in a long time. It started planning. I've got a running plan for my life right now. It's, as all plans are, frightening, but the fear isn't me anymore. It's outerwear. And it feels appropriate for planning. It'll keep me honest in the wind.

She was absolutely right. And I was absolutely right. This woman's got a hold on me like you wouldn't believe. I feel her underneath me. Not like something separate. I feel her like I feel me underneath me. I feel us underneath me. It makes me aware of everyone else. Only, they don't have her eyes. Her eyes see it as clear as I do. It's not something I can deny. It's not something I want to deny. I feel like I need her. I feel like I don't, I feel like I have her always no matter the circumstance. One doesn't need what one cannot lose. I get scared to tell her something's sometimes. Worried about how she'll understand it, what it will say about me. That used to be my biggest fear growing up, instilled in me by my father; that someone would understand something about me that I've overlooked. That fear used to define me. Now I don't speak to her sometimes simply because my mind is moving too fast, and I don't feel like going back to type it all.. It's going to be great talking to her.

My father told me in high school that I was too stupid to be involved with women. I'm going to ask him what he meant tomorrow.