I will be called to task. To be somber. Or sexy. Or cute. Or responsive.

But I am, me.

I am not cute. Or sexy. Or the facade of my past. I am just me.

Do we hear the voice of love when it calls? Whispers?

I am the picture painted on the canvas of my imagination. Evolving.

Where once I was the black man that is only good for a late night visit, a shell of the man that I longed to be. I have visited myself and have grown beyond those moments. That emptiness.

I was that man women marry and divorce, for I lacked the state of grace that is to love, the want and need, of those that sought to be, just and alive.

I can pretend to be someone other than who I am, but those needs, those darker moments have faded and passed.

I will still seek love…to never again deny that I want to own and be owned by, love.

I will ache, to just be loved and to love with the passion and grandeur of my Maker.

When I have, once again, held love in my arms, I shall never again let it go.

Let us just, love. For all we are worth and long to be.