BY PRIZE UDO
The last of a dying breed indeed is the first thing she notices but not the last thing she sees,
Things like manners only complement his faith, and his mistakes aren’t really mistakes but growing pains his father allowed him to endure so that he could secure a better future, all the wisdom of the Kama Sutra but never once demined himself in strip clubs for fun, couldn’t see past the pun of strippers having fun selling something so precious for something as fictitious as scraps of paper while he calls the waiter for more rounds.
Intelligence grew to be refined over time and through conversations with women that raised generations we’ve long ago neglected, but what she detected in him was a historian someone who could see the past future and present in the present as if he hopped in a DeLorean and lived it himself. So she stood beside herself and wondered if her dress met the appropriate length to converse at length with whatever words left his tongue first, Never coerced into believing what the mainstream streams through his speaker box in fact from time to time classical music acts like a detox to keep this gentleman on course, but of course she knows he’s not afraid to let his hair down even though its neatly trimmed behind the invisible crown she can’t help but keep staring at. The definition of what it means to be black doesn’t apply to him, and keeping it real isn’t a phrase he believes in, because see he IS them and while everyone else pretends to know what they don’t know he prays for God to teach him. So she keeps telling herself this is the one momma told me about since the first DAY her daddy walked out and took whatever reasonable doubt was left for her to put faith in, but she can’t deny seeing him, and all those undertones that might be true about him is too irresistible to let go or to pretend she might find the same caliber as him clubbing with friends.
The fact he never approached her makes him seem even more unapproachable than the culture he’s been raised by, so her mind can’t move as if it’s been led by the lullaby her grandma used to sing by her bedside. And she doesn’t know how she can justify having someone as flawless as him even though he’s the first to admit no one’s perfect.
So now she moves to be what she hopes she sees on the exterior, someone a little more superior than the woman circumstance left in her mirror, a queen motivated by the vision of a king ruling over his own kingdom in the absence of the arrogance the ignorant live by, it’s going to take a little more work just to say hi, and a little more self-respect to respect the code he lives by…and she will turn heads, drop stigmas, redefine the undefinable because her time table is one God works by, all because she caught a glimpse of the perfect guy…