Today is the day of moving forward. I finally had to realize that the Ballad of a Real Black Girl would never be anything, could never help anyone until I finished the story.
The best stories are always true, always robust and full of experiences that pierce like daggers at times, tickle the way a good laugh does, and also strokes like a lover does at other times.
This story, my story, begins with an ending.
It is the ultimate show of force, a reckoning with myself and a long letter to the lover of my life.
It begins, I don’t love you anymore. It’s late, but right on time.
I don’t love you anymore, so that I can live.
So that I can love someone worthy.
I feel like running thru the streets screaming it at the top of my lungs…it’s a celebration, a mourning, a deep sadness encircled within an audacity of hope.