So … I was thinking
Yeah … just sitting in my bed … with my TV off … thinking
And I don’t know why … but I thought about Love … Black Love to be exact
Now … if Black Love was a car … it would have a strong motor and perfect transmission. Something that any person who knew a car would love to behold. Coated in chrome, spotless in all facets, and a remnant of good engineering for any that could appreciate it.
But … the body would be riddled with bullet holes, the wheels would have been stolen, with the car on blocks, the windows would be busted, the paint peeling and rusted and worst of all … the car wouldn’t be and old jalopy that had long been abandoned … but something close to new … that just had been a victim of its environment.
Black Love at its core is a beautiful thing. It’s something that most of us aim and aspire to. It’s what keeps us going out after that bad date, what helps motivate us to keep trying after that bad break up, and what gives us hope that “it’s gonna be ok”. Ahhh … Beautiful Black Love.
At its core, Black Love is what many of our grandparents had, some of our parents, and a few of our friends. It’s the stuff that is written in books, and powers the entire crappy and repetitive R&B industry. It’ s captured in paintings, it’s talked about in poems, and it’s exemplified in front of our eyes in movies (well the good black ones at least). It truly is a thing of beauty to behold … too bad you don’t see it anymore.
I don’t know what has befallen us as a group. Male and Female relationships are just abysmal. Men don’t trust women … women are convinced we’re all no good … its amazing anyone actually works out.
So … all this … while I’m here thinking.
Now I focus on me … The one and only SBM … and his relationship with Black Love.
I don’t know her … I’ve spend a good portion of my life dodging her … and she is foreign to me. She is like homeless woman who I don’t want to get near … but I bet if I got the time to know her … she probably has a heart of gold and is a sweetheart. Black Love has never been cool with me … I haven’t really wanted to know her. Whenever her name comes up in my phone … straight to voicemail … because we have nothing to talk about. When I see her out on the street … I’m ducking into an alley. When she pokes up at the party I just walked into … I’m making a quick escape out the back window. We ain’t got nothing to talk about!
Maybe I’m selfish … maybe I have a fear of commitment … maybe I want to sow my royal oats … or maybe it’s one of the other 3,521 reasons handed to us “scared men” (I hate that ABW sentiment so much its not even funny).
Maybe … I’m just jaded. Maybe when I see Black Love all I see is the bullet ridden exterior that has been ripped to shreds … and am just not willing to invest the time and effort. Maybe I’m just a black man jaded.
Or … maybe … just maybe … maybe I’m waiting for that one person to grab my hand … bring me to this shell of former car … and show me the beauty that lies beneath. Then … together … we restore her to the greatness she once was … something to be proud of.
Or maybe I’m thinking too much …