I need to breathe. The air is running out of my lungs and anxiety is replacing it. Three hours earlier, I received an anonymous phone call from this girl named Kenya. Supposedly she was "coming to me as a woman" whatever the hell that meant. She told me to meet her at this frozen yogurt joint in the mall, which coincidentally happens to be my favorite yogurt parlor. Kenya. That name still burns a trail into my tongue. She greets me with a hug, the nerve of this female touching me. She tells me that she's been seeing my man off and on for the past couple of months. Everything starts to click. The random travels out of state to visit " a friend." The random phone calls. The new password on the phone. The increased secrecy. The nerve. I had to hold it together, I couldn't break in front of this female. She was lost, I couldn't even fix myself to break her face; those kind of females lack serious self love and will try to get it from any source possible. I was lost in my mind on the drive home. When I get home, I lose my shit. Three hours after sitting with Kenya, I finally break. I wouldn't even call it crying. It was to the point where breathing became more than difficult and it hurt to utter out words. Maybe the shower would help. I sat in the shower and just allowed the water to confuse the path of my tears. It was the thought of giving someone my all and having to be broken like this.. I don't think anyone deserves it.
He didn't come home that night. Kenya told him that she alerted me of their previous rendezvous. I received numerous calls and texts from him, but I didn't want to hear the bullshit excuses. "She didn't mean anything." "I love you." "It was all a mistake." You were the mistake. It meant everything to you. And no, you do not love me. Rule number 5: people we love have the ability to hurt us. Trust your instincts. Do NOT tolerate this level of hurt from anyone.
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A'maara L.A Guide to Blk Love Archives
May 2020
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