Into the Rain

Dear EX.

When I walked out of my first meeting, there was this insane summer storm.

It was torrential. BIBLICAL.

Like suddenly water up to your knees and no umbrella, or running could save you from getting soaked.

I walked into the rain.

When I got to the car, I cried and laughed

And laugh-cried.

I am a fucking mess.

But I think-this is beginning of happy.

Dear Asha. How will I know I'm not in love with you anymore? How did you know?

Dear Asha. I've been sober for eight months now.

I'm sleeping more. I'm writing more. I wish I was sober when we were together.

I know we would have broken up regardless.

But I could have loved you better.

Dear Asha. I miss you.

Dear Asha.

Grief is not linear.

Healing is not linear.

It isn't "every day gets a little better"like people say. It's better some days, and really

Really worse others.

It's a week of helplessness.

Then a perfect, beautiful day full of gratitude.

Dear Asha. I'm still so sad. But I love myself again.

Dear Asha. Today I bought myself a greasy piece of pizza.

It was hot outside and humid and green everywhere.

I held the slice in my hand and let the grease run down my hand and arm and thighs.

I bounced around in my short shorts and laughed. I love eating.

I love my thick thighs. I love this sunlight.

Dear Asha. I met someone.

She loves herself and laughs like she's

Water overflowing, splashing with joy.

She lights up a room.

I asked her how she does it.

She said "I have this ball of light...right here. And when I'm happy, it grows.

When I'm sad, it grows. It's warm and yellow and sometimes it tickles.

She is so beautiful. I wonder if I have a ball of light.

I wonder what it looks like. What it feels like.

What color it is.

Dear Be.

You are broken and gorgeous. You are tender.

You are strong with thick roots and bark and soft fuzzy spring green leaves.

You are a black girl. You love other black girls.

When you see black girls crying, you cry.

When you see black girls smiling, you cry.

Every black girl is you. Your sister is you. Your auntie is you. Your ex is you.

Dear Be. You want to be sister mother to every Black girl in the world. And hold her when the world tells her she is ugly, invisible, disposable.

You want to tell her I CANT WAIT UNTIL you know how

Powerful you are. I JUST CAN'T WAIT.