Memories of innocence

Okay, this is going to be something.
Actually, no, let’s just jump right the fuck in, no dancing around the topic, no farting around, we’re doing this shit and DAMNED BE THE CONSEQUENCES!
We’re talking love, romance, flirting, and all things I find to be either incredibly easy, or just down right hard depending on how long I hesitate before actually speaking and that just causes a cascade effect where the thoughts just fucking flip out on me like,
“Hey, you’re actually kind of-“
“LOOK AT THE PENGUIN!”
At that level.
I’m not sure th reason for the hesitancy, I know for certain that it feels like the words are there, but my mouth won’t form the words.
Or maybe it’s something simpler:
Fear of rejection.
If rejected twice already, then the probability of being rejected a third time is pretty high, or maybe on a subconscious level I’m reading the social cues being put out.
Or maybe it’s the cues I think are happening but in reality it’s not.
All I can know for sure is that it’s really hard guessing intention just based on eyes, and eyebrows alone.
Which SUUUUUUCKS.
But, at the same time, affords some practice in noticing the details.
Kind of.
black women are absolutely stunning to me for some reason, maybe it’s just that I’m looking for a change of pace, or maybe dating someone outside my skin tone of splotchy peach mixed with sunburnt tomato has been appealing to me for the longest time?
I dunno why it is.

I guess my earliest exposure to the idea of dating a black gal (This is normal thinking for me on the regular. Sometimes you just have to let it out.) was back in middle school, back in San Jose, not middle school, High School?
Yeah, high School.

Okay, so there was this bomb ass BBQ place just smack dab between my house and Oak Grove high School, no… wait, Davis Minor Intermediate School… Was it OGHS? Hard to recall specific details.
Anyways, this place was AMAZING, it was Black owned (do I capitalize Black? Do I not? well, no squiggly red line, so I guess so.) run by this elderly dude… What was his name!?
Gus? Stanley? Pete? Paul? Robert? Dan? David? It was probably Gus… We’re going with Gus.
So, Gus was similar height to Nigel, but the dude was fucking stacked, try to imagine four body builders sharing one of those full one body suits at the same time, and you’ve got Gus.
Anyways, Gus made THE BEST FUCKING RIBS imaginable.
He also had a daughter, named Bridgette, I was… what, 5’9 in middle school? So she was a few inches shorter then me.
But, my bois, my awesome lads?
She was gorgeous, I imagine she still is to this day. Wish I had kept up with her.
Anyways, she had this wild hair that wouldn’t stay combed down, so she just let it do its own thing, and it was a unique experience to watch what it decided to do from the day to day.
Coil factor on a scale of one to ten?
Between a 3 to 4. There was a bit of a twist to it, but for the most part, it looked like it was always going after a few birds.
Skin tone? Best way to describe it… Her tone was as if a glass of chocolate milk were made with a mix ratio of 40% chocolate syrup, with a dash of caramel.
Her eyes a really deep brown, almost black. Her irises had a ring of grey right around the pupil, which I was always curious about, never got around to asking.
Her build was average, nothing too fancy.
She was kind of dorky, which I had a thing for back then, so it fit pretty well.

Anyways, almost everyday, after school I’d walk her back to the store (I think it was high school… Not sure of the year, BUT I do remember that it was during the either Fall or Spring.) and we’d just talk about random things, I had no clue about flirting back then, I was just friends with someone.

So, whenever dances came around, I’d always go by myself since I could never really get up the courage to ask someone to go with me, so it was just a common thing for me to go to the school dances by myself and just do my own thing.
It became something of offline meme.
This one dance those, winter formal, I did the same thing, and Bridgette was at the dance as well.
It was during one of the slower dances that a group of her friends asked me to dance with her, and I said sure, why not?
She was wearing a pink dress, not too puffy shoulders, her hair was still wild, but she had it in a pony tail which worked in her favor.
Can’t remember the perfume, but I remember the scent perfectly, it was sweet, sugary, tropical, with a hint of Lilac and rose. It was amazing!
So, I ended up dancing with her the rest of the night, it was almost like I felt this pull towards her.
During…. what was the song playing at the time!? DAMN IT.
Boyz to Men, I can never remember the song…there was this one line, “I’ll be there for you”
But she pulled me in close, and rested her head on my shoulder and I remember feeling her heartbeat against my chest.
I didn’t think about it for the longest time, but looking back, knowing what I know now, I must have made her night. Even when the music stopped, we just kept on dancing, every once in a while she’d look into my eyes, just simply smiling, she had a gorgeous smile, it completely lit up the room.
Her eyes were bright, scary bright, as if they weren’t even real, but I felt her warmth, there was mass, weight, presence!
She must’ve been the happiest girl at the dance, because she didn’t let go of me for a full three seconds after I had of her to get to the bathroom, kind of funny.

Ever since then I’ve wanted to experience that feeling all over again, that feeling of being complete. I thought I had it with Ashley, and for a while, I did. Then, for the longest time now, I haven’t.

It’s not something common, like I look into a gals eyes and just instantly fall for them, there has to be a real connection in order for me to get worked up about a gal. A visceral and thorough understanding and almost magnetic pull towards her that subconsciously drives me towards her, as if the warmth of a campfire were just underneath my heart whenever she’s around!
There has to be a look in her eyes, that one look. Not something that screams “Fuck me”, but it’s the subtelest of tells, something that I can only pick up on if she’s close enough to where I can see the iris pattern.
A look in her eyes that silently asks, “If we could be together, would you want to?”
That “If” part. The almighty heartbreaking hypothetical question.
It’s her way of letting me know that “yeah, there’s interest, but you’ve got to meet me halfway. you’ve got to let me know what’s going on at your end, what are you looking for? Will you let me know? I might not be available now, but I will be eventually, so please remember this moment.”
That’s the look that snags my attention, that’s the look that strikes a chord on the strings of my heart.
For that woman, I’d gladly face a thousand armies, I’d conquer any obstacle I could to make her happy.

If there’s one thing I’ll never regret, it’s dancing with Bridgette and seeing those beautiful brown eyes with the ring of grey, how they shown so bright, even in the darkness of that gym and the occasional flash of the DJ’s lighting rig.
That look is universal.
So, single women, if you catch me looking into your eyes, just know I’m reading your irises, trying to find that one specific look, the slight growth in your pupil, the way the light dances off the lens, the flare of silver on the outer edges.
Love is love, regardless of the situations we find ourselves, and though societal norms may prevent us from acting upon the natural subconscious impulses we’ve learned to tame, just know it’s alright, whatever situation you’re in, everything will work itself out eventually.

Getting my attention is easy, keeping it is easy, but firing up the kiln of my creativity? That’s extremely hard, and keeping those fires lit, even if indirectly? Damn near impossible.
After all, all you have to do is reach out, and I’ll be there.

Those eyes, how they do hypnotize.

Looking into them, see how they spark
Like getting lost in a hurricane of feeling
Love, loss, joy, confusion, happiness, apathy, lust
Overbounding with love like instant sparks
A flare of joy rocketing into the sky

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