Our love was a page ripped from a ghetto fairy tale. A hip-hopera full of mezzo highs, stalked by bassy lows. A forbidden fruit nurtured by the tree of infatuation that fell onto the grounds of rumors, jealousy and moral ambivalence. A rural-urban love that matured in the projects on the outskirts of a college town.
I paid for my matriculation while the private education of love was being taught by a able teacher and apt pupil. God sat high and looked low as the flames of lust burned hot and died while a love that would stand as testament to its own alluring power rose from the ashes.
Never had i submitted in such a way, he was mine and i was his. It was there before the eyes of the bewildered masses that we baptized ourselves in the the warmth of love, the comfort of trust and the temple of passion.
Alas the bond would break, a positive sign with a negative side positioned itself between the two of us and the cooling waters of fear extinguished our fire.
A heart once filled with passion now lay shattered spilling the seeds of hate. My heart healed but bore a secret, For withing is frigid stone exterior it protected a glimmer, a hope, a remnant of that love that I had lost and clandestinely longed for.
His apology has ended my emotional drought with the gentle rain of reconciliation, yet the love that i thought would leave lives on. It is forever stashed and filed in a special place with his name on it. It no longer awaits his return but it forever incubates the piece of his heart that he left with me...that replaces the piece of mine that he took with him.
There will never be another him, me nor us, but as long as i live i will cherish and remember my first professor of love. The Bible says that it is out of the abundance of the heart that the mouth speaks and my heart has written anthologies yet tonight he gave me what no other man ever could, the one thing i needed to finish our story for good, a period, it signifies the end but now that im here...i just want to read it all over again...
