By Annonymous and Enamoured
My heart painfully contracts inside my chest and feels too tight and too big all at the same time. I have watched you from afar for some time now.
Intrigued at first. Interested in your appeal.
You reminded me of a girl I used to love. A girl I still love. You looked like her as you swayed to the music, head bent to the floor as if you imagined yourself elsewhere.
I have fallen for your hair and the ink on your skin. Your big scarfs and short skirts. I have fallen for the way your words speak to mine like they have danced to soul music together, kissing each other’s fingers and internalizing a deep desire to be loved and seen, to love and to see.
I imagine that you will physically ache and your breathing will become laboured when you think of me.
I imagine that we’ll both be shy at first but we’ll remember that our words have slow danced together before and we are not strangers.
I imagine that we’ll lie in bed together on Sunday afternoons and you’ll breathe me in and tell me how no one gets wet for you like I do and you’ll ask me to do it again and I’ll remember our words dancing and I’ll gush.
I imagine we’ll lose whole weeks.
I have fallen for the way you have seen my desire. The way you write about women. The way you write about me. I have fallen for the recognition of myself in another. The relentless love of black skin on black women.
I have fallen for me and in turn have fallen for you.
I have imagined your words about me. Instead I write them now for you.
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