11:06 pm.

Her camera snapped as she posed in Saks, and it snapped again as she flashed a 'Home & Garden' smile in front of yet another cliche New York City Street: Broadway.

Our camera caught us in our most candid moments: snaking through the back streets of Chinatown-- direction-less, haggling at the Asian Market, and puffing cigarettes on the corner because we'd just been rejected by the hippest club in the city.

Ha.
Remember that?

As she bops her head to Beyonce's latest single somewhere across town, you and I lay coiled, losing ourselves in each note of the forgotten greatness that is Carl Thomas' "Summer Rain." Just as I predict, the playlist shifts to the Isley Brothers' "Between the Sheets," and follows it up with Donny Hathaway's "A Song For You."... and then-- oh, this totally fits the mood right now -- Sade's "Your Love is King." Mmhhhhh...

Did you ever do this with her?
I mean, can you really "coil" to "Bootylicious"?

Whatever.

My closet stuffed with knock-off hats, scarves, and tops that I scoured from thrift shops, you compliment me on the ensemble I donned earlier: a green army cap, a red sleeveless knit-vest ($3.19!- score!), green flats (the ones girls constantly compliment me on-- they'd die if they knew I found them at the bottom of a consignment-shop sale-bin), a mustard yellow top (snug in all the right places,) and my pair blue/black denims that fits the same...
I allow myself to wonder- only briefly- if her ears were ever tickled by the same flattery, as you whispered how much she sparkled in her diamond earrings and dainty manicure?

I guess I'll never get it.

She writes checks.
I write songs.

She spends her days with line sisters.
I spend mine catering to lines of customers at work.

The girls at Hooters know us by name now, as we spent most of our summer there, during the NBA finals, remember?- inhaling chicken wings, and downing beer after beer, and high-fiving each other each time KG dunked it, or Kobe practically snapped someone's ankles...

Did you two ever pass the basketball back-and-forth in your parking lot?
I mean, there's nothing profound about that at all.
It's random, I know...
But-- did you?
You couldn't've.
She doesn't strike me as the type.
It's just-- it's rare, but curiosity sneaks up on me sometimes.
And it's annoying as eff.

I know your time together-- and ours-- they're completely different.
And I believe you when you say so.
Because she's so...
And I'm so...
ya know.

Caught up in my thoughts, I make the mistake of wondering-- out loud-- "How could you spend so much time with someone who's so... not your type?"

"What?"

"Oh," realizing my self-perceived mutter was actually audible, I figure that an actual answer might amuse me, so I ask again:
"How could you love two people who are so completely different from each other?"
Was he getting it right when he was with her? Or is it here... with me?

Silence.
I know he's wondering how in a time like this-- when he's got me wrapped up this way-- how I could ask him about something so... irrelevant.
More silence.
Then finally, his eyes lock in on me as he asks, in a failed attempt to not sound hostile...

"How could you?"

............... Damn.

Speechless, I slip from my rested-on-my-side-with-my-elbow-on-the-bed-while-my-hand-holds-my-head-up position, and plop on my back as I search the ceiling through the darkness.

"I dunno.... "
But I do know.

"It's hard to explain."
It's not.

You see, I was in a different place, then.
You know. Back then, I allowed half-assed, unworthy, borderline-retarded men to set up camp in my heart for much longer than they deserved.
I wasn't desperate.
I just-- settled.
They were-- cool. So they were enough...

Andre, short-tempered and crippled with pride .
Jordan, with his two kids and unstable 'baby mama'.
Vince, who couldn't read any better than a sewer rat.
Kevin, devoid of any human emotion.

I mean, they were (kinda) funny, and really good-looking.
We stayed together because there were never pressing reasons to let them go.

But with you-- God, with you...
I discovered the glorious treasures which remained tucked inside the darkest crevices of my heart--waiting to be searched by You.
It's scary though, because loving you has made me realize just how much God stuffed inside of me... how much He invested in my tiny little being: how much passion, and selflessness... forgiveness and wisdom.
And fergodssake-- you fill me up... along with the beliefs I hold in my mother's love, my savior's resurrection, and God's unique purpose for my life, I also believe--wholeheartedly-- that God dropped you here on this earth to be loved by me.
And to love me in return...
With you, everything-- everything-- is so new.

It's disgusting, really.
And revolutionary.
And exciting, and terrifying, and raw....


Why did I stay with those other guys for as long as I did?

Because I hadn't yet met you.


----
And without having expressed any of this to you, you feel it.
You know what I'm thinking.
Gently wrapping your fingers around my chin, you pull my face within centimeters of yours, and whisper, into my mouth, "That's my reason too," mushing your pillow-lips against my forehead...

So I forgive you.
For being with her...
Because now I understand.....

Prince's "Call My Name" rings out from the speakers, yanking me out this pathetically-romantic daze, and I laugh out loud-- suddenly aware of, and embarrassed by, the cliche-ness of it all.

I turn over to face the wall-- my bare back pressed against your heaving chest, so you can spoon me in that way you do, forcing the tension from my bones -- and smile myself to sleep...


Who cares if this scene is cliche...

Sing it, Prince.
Sing it...

Ba Boom Ba.

"ba-boom

ba

ba-boom

ba

ba-boom

ba

...."

you never got it right...
instead,

"ba-ba-boom

ba-ba-boom "

is your translation.

But don't you... hear it?
Or have you any rhythm?

Patience running low as you devour six gluttonous minutes: ears pressed against bare breasts, as I lay there with you resting on me...
as if you were an infant...
as if I were settled in to nurse you...

You should've caught the pattern after 30 seconds.

The

ba-boom

ba

ba-boom

ba

of the tattered bloody drum that keeps my breath in step.
The very breath that lets me love you this way.

Back strained from supporting all the weight your head has burdened, I give up.

And if I didn't see such symbolism in this, you and I might stand a chance.

But I do...

Oh baby, I do.