I don’t know why I agreed to meet her in this place. The uneasy corner of Getting Over Her For Good and Trying To Make This Shit Work Again. She conned me into coming when she told me she needed to talk. Just as friends. She needed to vent. And I was the first person to come to her mind. Not her girlfriends. Not that dude she had just broken up with because they couldn’t iron out their kinks. But me. I pretended she was telling the truth about this being a friendly reunion. The love for her that still lived behind my conscious thoughts hoped it would be something more.

I reached the coordinates in space and time that she had given me. Not a tangible place that you can feel and touch, just a point in the universe where both of our beings wanted what they wanted. And at that moment, it was critical that we be with each other. Her body was so far away, but I could still see her in my mind’s eye. She was smiling shyly at me in my imagination, hoping I would make the first move so that time would revert back to when we were together. Before she lost her damn mind. She wanted to take a trip back to our favorite place. Where it was quiet. Where we didn’t have to utter a single word to communicate. Where I gave her the truest, purest form of me.

But she hadn’t known what to do with my vulnerability. It had been fragile and needed to be handled with care. I had given it all to her, and ultimately, had to take it all back. Or at least what was left of it before she destroyed all of its magnificence. That’s the thing about beautiful emotions. They’re so precious, so incredible, you never want to let them go. You want to keep them pressed against the softest parts of you forever. But she didn’t deserve any of it. She wasn’t worthy of my sensitivity.

But I damn sure wanted to bestow the honor upon her once again. I wanted to start over. I wanted us to hit replay and rewrite the parts where she fucked it all up. Make her choose differently. Demand that she see that everything she was looking for in these shallow ass niggas she was using to fill that emptiness was already in me. I wanted to hear her voice again and be hypnotized by her Siren Song. Remind me of the times that she made me feel ecstasy despite the crumbling walls of hell all around us. Take me to before I knew that she was the devil I was running from.

I still wanted to save her from herself. I wanted to run behind her and tell her that she was flawless just as she was. She didn’t need to run away from her insecurities. Her fears no longer needed to cripple her. She was perfect. She still is already perfect. There was no need to destroy everything she touched just because she herself was broken. I wanted nothing more than to fix her. I wanted to take her bruised existence and nurse it back to health. She was worth more than the Rolex I displayed on my wrist. She was worth more than one hundred lifetimes. She was worth more than I could ever offer her. We just needed one eternity together.

I guess that’s why I agreed to meet her at the corner of I Shouldn’t Be Here and I’ll Never Fucking Leave Your Side. Because no matter what direction we take, we would always end up here. Staring at each despite the limitations of time and space. Aware of the fact that we should never try to awaken the sleeping dragon that was once us. But pathetically unable to fight the feeling that this is where we both belonged. There was no place I’d rather be than on the corner of I’m Leaving You Alone and You’ll Always Be My Baby with her.

Dear November. I can see you from where I am. Young. Eager. Ready to challenge a system designed to make you work your ass off for an unachievable dream. Like pedaling a bike as hard and as fast as you can and realizing that you’re turning the wheels that will make someone else move forward. But still work hard November. But there is no need to be the best. Greatness has no place in this society. For the greatest achieve nothing but recognition and praises. Two things that do not quell a starving belly or provide warmth when the cold threatens to take you out. Be smart. Know how to play the game. For the greats have to carry the things that the mediocre leave behind. And trust me November, it is too great a burden to bear.

November, do not rush and aspire toward Love. For what you are looking for is companionship to ease the loneliness. You are looking for a feel good to negate the feel bads that you are afflicted with every day. You are not looking for the commitment from each and every man or woman you encounter. You are looking to feel wanted. Desirable. Sexy. Coveted. You want someone to crave you as much as you do them. You want to know that the most unattainable person in The Universe can show some interest in you. And trust me. They will. But don’t you dare let them drag you down to hell with them.

Dear November. You do not need a degree from a place that seeks to chain you with debt and restrictions to validate you. You are good enough already. You came perfectly out of the womb. You were already valuable. Everything to make you great already lives in you. It is up to you to sow the seeds and reap the harvest. You are Greatness Personified.

Dear November. You do not need that man. You never did. Any man that does not make you feel higher than your best self is not for you. You are not his Savior. He is not your Saint. It is okay to leave people broken. We cannot mend every fragmented piece. For we cannot break ourselves in our selfless attempt to fix others. It is okay to take back your sanity. You owe that man nothing but a kiss on his forehead and genuine well wishes. Baby or not.

Dear November. It is okay to chase Love. He is waiting for you to claim him. You will spend your entire life not knowing it in its purest, kindest form. Running from it. Proudly proclaiming that you don’t need it. But it will come for you. And when it does, innocent and trusting, you will distort it beyond recognition. You will beat it and punish it until it becomes ugly and undesirable. And you will realize that it was you that made it this way.

Dear November. It is okay to be you. The real you. The untouchable, unreachable you. Discriminate on who you let in. Not everyone’s intentions are good. They are not all worthy of your time.

November, you are not uppity for wanting something more for yourself. You are not anal because you plan for a future as if it will come in the morning with the rising sun. Because guess what? It will.

Dig deeper. Save money to leave those who will need to survive after you have gone. Forgive easily. Forget nothing. Live every day as if tomorrow will never come. Because you know what November? One day tomorrow will be an entire lifetime away. My dear November.

Let’s take a trip down memory lane. Remember my tiny studio apartment? Cobalt blue walls with hand painted vines reaching toward the ceiling. You laid me flat out on the firmness of my cheaply made Walmart futon and covered my eyes with the Blackness of my silk scarf. Remember running ice over my bare skin? Then syrup? Then your warm pink tongue? How did it feel to taste the very best of heaven on your virgin taste buds?

Now let’s make a left on Nostalgia Avenue. All my love. My peace and happiness. I want to give it to….. You. You sang in the shower and I hummed along. Waiting for you to step out and reveal the greatness that dwelled within you. Body glistening. Branded chocolate skin. You were glowing even though the room was nearly dark. You made love to me on that cold bathroom floor. I dug my fingers deep into that sun-kissed skin. Licked those Greek Letters on your chiseled chest. Tasted the stories that you would forever keep from me. Stories that turned into dark secrets. Secrets that ripped us apart. But I can still taste the majesty of that burn. Still hearing you pledging that allegiance in my small shower.

Make a right on Reminiscent Road. A long hallway. Blue stars and men playing football. Plush couches and countless pictures of children that weren’t yours. I danced for you as you sat in that brown chair. In my purple dress. And my orange heels that you loved. We didn’t make love. You pleasured my body so well no words I put on this page could do you justice. I ain’t never felt nothing like that before. And I still haven’t to this very day.

Memories. Take me back to the places I want to visit repeatedly but can no longer go. Carry me through the recesses of the deepest parts of my mind and let me live there. Let me travel through those alleyways and side streets to the destinations that are forbidden to me outside of my psyche.  

I’m running out of gas.

Recollection Boulevard. And I’ve hit a dead end. Nowhere to go from here. No longer able to remember the small details and the little touches that once tied me to the things I desperately want to remember. Forced to turn around and make my way back through the mish mosh of happenings and occurrences. For some reason I cannot find my way through. I’m stuck on Memory Lane. And left with all the things that live there. Pain. Anger. Regret. Hurt. Love. Hope. Fear. Love. You. It’s all so foreign. But so pleasantly familiar. I can make a home on Memory Lane. Live here forever.

But I won’t. This place, filled with all of the stickiness and filth of emotions, is a place you visit. Not a place of permanence. It’s a place I must come to when I need a vacation. But right now. In this perfect piece of space and time, with this combination of this new you and this old I, I think I have to leave Memory Lane and find a new place to call home.

I remember Vicky. The way her oversized chrome feet glimmered and shone when you would roll past me on those stifling July days on New Jersey streets. You loved that car as much as I thought that I loved you. You kept her clean, giving her a bath one a week. Twice when it rained. She was always neat. Proper. I remember riding around past Burger King and Walgreens, blasting Meek Mills. He was a newby then. A break out artist. Something fresh. Like what was happening between us. The music was so loud I couldn’t hear myself think. So loud I couldn’t feel my phone vibrate on my brown legs. But I heard him. Feeling like the words to the songs you chose off that album had been picked for me. They weren’t. They were for everybody. For every girl. For every pretty face you had ever seen. They were never for me.

I remember Cammie. Silver and bright. She still had the new car smell. I shared so many firsts with you and that car. First kiss. First love. First car. I was hurt when I learned that I wasn’t going to be the first woman to enjoy her heated seats. But I’ll take second place to your sisters. But she was there through everything. She drove those many miles from Philly to DC. She took you away when you learned of my infidelities. She dried your tears and drowned out your cries with the sound of Rick Ross after our heated fights. Live Fast. Die Young. She carried away our boxes of memories when you told me it was over. You’ve had enough. Pictures. Teddy bears. Clothes you left behind. She carried you away from me. I miss Cammie. I don’t even think she remembers me. I’ll never forget her.

I remember the thunder of your Black Honda Coupe. She never had a name. Your racing car. Your bad boy car. Your drug dealing car. I loved the roar of the engine. I love the way you switched gears. I loved the speed. How fast you and Her swept me off my feet. I remember hearing you coming from around the corner. Anxious. I remember the butterflies. You and Her would always bring me something special. Wendys Frosty’s. Specially made burgers. McDonalds Fries. Well placed kisses. I loved when you and Her would come home to me. She was ferocious, but oh so sweet. Just like you.

I remember when she started to go. Over heating on dark highways. Windows that wouldn’t roll down. Balding tires. Peeling tint. Leaking coolant and oil. We had to let our Honda go. We’ve upgraded since then. Gotten something new now. But Ms. Honda is still in our hearts. I still hear you revving that powerful engine in the recesses of my mind.

So many cars. A Burgundy Buick. A Black Caddy. A White Pontiac. A Black Civic Coupe. A Green Acura with the passenger side door banged in. A Lexus Jeep. Many men. Many cars. All with their own stories to tell. Something so simple. Giving me a ride. Taking me to dinner. To a movie. Sneaking me into your mother’s basement. All the late night “chill” sessions. So many destinations.

I only have one ride now. His gray Acura. Tint black as midnight. Always parked outside our home. As if waiting for me. Ms. Ebony. She’s my ride for now. And I’ll be riding that girl until the wheels fall off. Believe that.