A few feet away, down the hall, around the corner, rests the painting. She lies waiting for new strokes…for more Love. I cannot think of a more symbolic painting. Life beaming from her stomach, her arms wide, accepting the beauty of the wind. Asking for it, even. For She to be self-produced, I wonder, where in my subconscious She even came from.
Well, She came from you, Shannon. From this year. From life alone. From moments of solitude where total bliss was your escape. From food that finally tasted good, and aromas filling the room. Apple cinnamon, Fresh Laundry. She came from that first weekend. August 16, when you made too many phone calls to Mommy because the space didn’t feel right. Didn’t curl its arms around you the way that you’d imagined. But you found warmth there anyway. And it was just you, finally.
On the heels of a summer that didn’t belong to you, She lied waiting in this basement apartment. She was in the pages of your journal, in Robert Glasper’s keys, in Tracie’s scissors… in his Smile. Out of She grew He. Out of He grew We. Out of We grew… maybe? Maybe She’s worthy to be loved. Maybe She’s desirable. I grew into She, but never saw myself with anyone. A door has been opened, and even if I only cross the threshold holding His hand… the door exists. I see that now.
Life beaming from her stomach… where is her love? In education. This year I have reaffirmed my love of learning. I want to trace the scope of this world, fall into its blemishes, and discover an antidote for the sickness that afflicts my fellow brothers and sisters. That’s Love…
Love? I found a better half this year; a Queen in day clothes. Her name, fitting, for it is my birthstone. To find my center in another human being has been humbling. Having someone understand who I am, someone who is willing to meet me, and walk with me on a journey of self-discovery… That’s friendship. That’s Love…
If I’ll take anything away from this year… it’s just that: LOVE. Of self. Of others. Of imperfection. Of possibilities.
She is Love. She is You.