Dear Cyntara,
I guess I should’ve said this sooner and made it more clear but you weren’t always there and I wasn’t always here and by here, I mean . . . I wasn’t always in front of you. Like a real nigga is supposed to. Cause I made you think I was that nigga you knew too well. The hood nigga who just slangs it for fun and always has tree to sell. But that’s not me.
Nah I’m more like the gentlemen type who wants to make you see that you’re beautiful and stunning even when you may do shit that seems unbecoming. Of a lady. Of my lady. My baby, the one I lean on when the world is too much and the one I touch when life makes me wanna give up. That’s what you had to the potential to be, obviously.
Otherwise, I would not have chosen you. I mean yeah, that body’s banging too but it’s other aspects to you. Things you may not see but I do. The fact that you sing in the choir at our church and show the younger ones what to do. I see the potential mother in you and I admire it, I do. I wish I could say I love you but truth is, I’m not a liar. Anymore.
Yet I’ve never been more sure … that I lied to you with my silence. My subtle defiance of these emotions cropping up in me. Cause I felt a lust so strong it felt like love but I know what love does, I’m an addict, of course. So I shrugged it off like a coward and to you that said he’s tired. Of you though? Never. You’re one of the women I treasure and that’s why this required more than a text message.
This my open letter
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