Sh, my beautiful baby-boys: I have a gorgeous angel in my bed. Please don’t wake her!
She had flown in the other eve from afar: One of my East Coast guardian angels who, over the course of our decade-long friendship, had seen me wrestle with some serious shit on the way to becoming the rad broad that I am. (Motha tells me modesty doesn’t run in our fam’. “Repeat after me,” she orders me around: “Lucky you — to know ME.” Obediently, I follow the lead. Never underestimate the power of a woman’s compassion!)
Back to my sleeping angel. Born on some exotic Mediterranean coast, just like the gypsy scribing this rant blog, she had never settled — for a place or a man unworthy of her stunning self. Instead, she continued her flight across the skies of the world, occasionally marking her coordinates with a post-card to me.
And I? I treaded upon the ground beneath, looking up only when I’d trip myself up:
“Did you see that?” I’d ask the skies of those multiple cities in which I played hide-and-seek with my homes and loves.
“I think: You’re amazing,” the voice of my girl would ping-pong from one timezone to the next.
Alas: Never underestimate the power of a woman’s compassion.
So, I’d scape myself off the ground, relocate my gravity and resume the epic search for the next city in which my love could be hiding.
Last night, while the angel dozed off on a floor pillow underneath a caramel-colored light that blended with her skin tone, I was alerted by messages from two women in the midst of their heartaches. One had just tripped herself up on her intuition: She was not getting the love she needed from a man. The other — tumbled over the limbs of her lover who, while stretching those and putting on his running shoes, suddenly wanted to “pursue other options”. One was a grown woman who, in this ever-so-transient city of LA-LA, knew better than to expect for a man to stay. The other — still a baby, a girl-child with no more than a single previous heartache — was straining her eyes at the horizon in an attempt to see just what her leaving lover was referring to. But no matter the drastic difference between the two hearts, both women were in the midst of being left.
This isn’t about your shortcomings, dear baby-boys; for we all have a share of those. (What did I tell you? Never underestimate the power of a woman’s compassion.) Besides, no matter how much this ranty cunt wants to unleash, I have a sleeping angel in my bed. So, I better keep my voice down.
It’s really simple, baby-boys: The size of this world is overwhelming, I know. I’ve earned myself some badass calluses treading it. And as my angel tells me, it is indeed worth every curiosity and wondering eye of yours.
But behold: KARMA. It’s bad enough you might have inherited some shitty one from one of your previous lives. (I know I have! Otherwise, why the fuck am I trippin’ so much?) So, in this lifetime, I’d suggest cradling that bitch as gingerly as your manly arms allow. And when you make a choice to leave a woman (especially a good one), I recommend to do so gracefully.
(I know, I know: Break-ups are messy. In the face of a departing love, shit get thrown around; and usually both parties are equally guilty at betraying their former loving selves. Shiva knows, I’ve climbed over enough ruins of my own post-break-up war zones: I threw shit — he threw shit right at back me; I ducked out of the way; I slipped up on that same shit; I fell. But if you are the one doing the leaving, have some mercy — have some grace! — and don’t destroy your new ex.)
I’m aching: As of last night, the world included two newly single girls. (As if it needed more of us!) And I weep, my dear darlings, not just for the fact of that very injustice (because I think, my two girls — are amazing!); but for the brutal destructions the two departing men have chosen to leave behind. I cannot even bring myself to reiterate the laundry list of their grievances with my angels. (NEVER underestimate the power of a woman’s compassion, I warn you!) Instead, I’ll reiterate this:
If you want to leave — for Shiva’s sake, GO! But don’t rough handle your former love — or your karma. Just like you, we will eventually “pursue other options”: other homes, other cities, other loves:
“When he’s ready to love me again, someone more capable might be loving me,” the baby angel wrote to me last night.
So, please leave us behind unscathed. Because when you choose to love a woman (especially a good one), you’ll no doubt leave a mark. But when you choose to leave her — marking the territory is simply brutal and selfish; and unworthy of your former loving self — your BETTER self — and of your karma.
Ah. I hear a shuffling of feathered wings…
Sh, my beautiful baby-boys: I have a gorgeous angel in my bed. Do YOU?