They came into this world together in the dead of winter in Brooklyn, New York. Jade was born at 8:24 am on January 8, 1990 in downtown Brooklyn and Jamaal was born on 4:46 am on January 9, 1990 in East Flatbush. They couldn't go not even a full 24 hours without being on the same spiritual plane. Jamaal always says he is older, because he was conceived first. Jade came earlier than expected, but on her mother's birthday (along with cousin, Carla who was born 3 hours before her. Jamaal's Best Woman, Akina and her also share the same birthday). Numerology is a crazy thing.
Not only do they share the same birthplace and almost the same birthday, they also share the same last name (no relation, don't worry, they checked!). They were definitely meant to be together. They spent their lives circling one another. Traveling to the same places and living in the same spaces unknowingly for years. It wasn't until November 17, 2019 that the stars finally aligned and they would meet.
Autumn is the time to fall in love with everything. To see heat hibernate and winter begin to take form. Leaves cascading from branches. They've learned the art of letting go. This story starts on a day where scarves had purpose and hands find warmth in one another, where vinyls play and fireplaces roar... where books lined walls and poetry was burgundy and gold.
Camera in hand, he walks in. Skin the color of midnight and eyes discovering possibilities. Creativity finding one another several months ago. She had maneuvered words and he had the ability to capture a thousand moments at a time.
A partnership blossomed from a chance that two artists would begin to draw together.
One week later, they were inseparable. Jade realized very soon this was forever, but was fearful to take a chance. Jamaal always said, "When you are ready for forever, you'll ask for it." Several weeks later, she asked after spending part of Thanksgiving with his family.
Wait.
Be patient.
Be still.
If I could tell myself one thing at 13, at 16, at 18, at every age of my teens and twenties.
Shit, maybe even at 3 or 5 or 8.
It’d be...
Wait.
Be patient.
Be still.
He is out there searching for you. You aren’t ready for him, but you will be.What you won’t have to be is...
a casket for dead men with lost dreams who try to find themselves in your pelvic to feel alive and plant seeds you aren’t willing to carry. You will not have to root yourself and grow in concrete. Defy odds. To matter. To resurrect joy for men on a clear path to destruction. You won’t have to save him. Them. Any. But, yourself.
You will not have to endure their sorrows. Their storms. Their temper tantrums. You will not have to sacrifice your freedom for their idea of love. It isn’t becoming to become a vessel for their pain. To try to raise a man who lacked parents and still blame them for what future he holds. Spending your life with sympathy, shame, guilt from and by men who never learned they have the power to create their lives, who don’t greet this morning with love in their heart, who are intent on being a causality instead of a catalysts.
You will have to learn the difference between helping and self-sacrifice. Between love and obsession. Between stability and complacency. Between protection and possessiveness. Between trust and stupidity. Between a man and an adolescent.
Although growth often meets discomfort, he will not make you uneasy. He will not pry open your heart or legs to break and bruise your insides. He will not put you in situations where you need to post bail or square up with women finding themselves in the man you think you love.
Because you will love yourself to a magnitude that makes any man attempting to court you, come with wisdom and understanding. He will be guided by God. Speak like a Proverb. He will see who you are before you recognize who he will be.Your peace.
And I say this because he found me unexpectedly. And I didn’t think it was possible.
He is more than what I prayed for.
Hoped for.
Could dream of.
Every day with him is a reminder that this world is magical and life is short and time is an illusion.
There are basic stuff that I had been lacking that should be a requirement for every man you date. Communication. Commitment. Courtship.
You are not a bargaining chip.
You are not a punching bag.
You are not a second option.
The man that is in search of you may find you whole or broken or somewhere in between and he will see you for who are and what you will be and know the difference.
Romance isn’t dead, my love.
Unless you choose to kill it by accepting invitations from men who don’t show up, who pretend, who showed you who they were the first time and you tried to change them. And then, wonder why you were short pocketed.
Invest in a man who doesn’t crash when it all falls down. A man whose love language isn’t built on the foundation of abuse, on your broken back, watered by your tears. Don’t bloom your own pain in hopes of being a wife to some half man half loving you half the time.
Wait.
Be patient.
Be still.
Be whole.
Our Ophelia.
You asked me to name her.
Attach to her.
I can’t wait to go home and whisper these words to her.
And only her. I hope Seymour or Gendry or any of the others know there is an abundance of love to go around and not an ounce of envy touches their veins.
I know you’ll water them and speak to them.
But, she is my favorite.
I’ve never seen an orchid stay alive this long in the winter.
Granted, global warming is evident, but you...you, darling...
You have a green thumb. Things are always growing around you. You have a way of showering the people you love with affirmations. Giving them a little sun each day. How I shine brighter... How my rays miss your melanin... You make me golden. I’ve bloomed a little more in your presence... I’ve let my roots spread a little wider... reach a little further. A little more love than I naturally require to survive.
I don’t want to simply sustain this life. You’ve made it impossible to go back.
To settle. To not grow, even in the discomfort and fear and worry.
I will let you love me.
Because you’re healthy.
Because you’re good.
Because before you,
My max on orchid was 7 days.
I’ve killed cactuses and men’s egos and plenty of possible relationships and forevers and I’m certain that an eternity of growing with you would make the galaxies in my almond eyes seem small and time seem simultaneously long and short and this life magical.
I love you something serious.
Something beautiful.
Something real.
I’ve never seen me so healthy in love.
So, I’ll try to not poison it, to not run, to not drag my roots from our garden, but I know you aren’t afraid of my dark, of my sickness, of my ability to ruin things.
You’re good at keeping plants alive.
Especially, the people kind.
You are my favorite.
That’s it.
That’s the poem.
Like I just want to end it there, but can’t.
You make me write poems in bed.
See...
Every morning I glance over as I’m buried because I burrowed in-between the cavity of your arm and chest and I say, “You’re my favorite.” And sometimes you say, “I better be.” Others you say, “You’re my favorite too....”
Always, you swarm me with kisses that make me honey bee fly. 200 and something beats with my four wings.
Our circadian rhythm.
I would have waited 30 more years for this.
But, I’m glad I didn’t have to.
You’re a provision.
An orchard.
Love.
You are my favorite.
That’s it.
That’s the poem.
30. I was afraid of you. I was afraid of what you meant because my life wasn’t where I had imagined. But, it turns out that I’m exactly where I’m suppose to be. Maktub.
I prayed for you.
I prayed before I knew you because I knew you were coming.
And now, that you are here
I think every love poem I’ve ever written was describing you like my body knew you before it knew how to take breath alone.
I am certain that
The reason why our birthdays are a day apart is because God meant for us to do this life together.
So, do these moments with me. The ones that we have in secret when you or I or both of us are frustrated and stressed and disoriented and don’t want to get out of bed, because those are only days, and we’ll have months that lead into years where we say thank you for just having this chance to love.
Happy 30th Birthday, Babe. “Two people destined to be together will always find each other.”
We will make trips to libraries and sanctuaries and as many museums as we can fit in every waking moment that host this love. Travel through storms for adventures we used to take alone... how we were going to settle for pieces of people and drown in hopes and dreams deferred trying to make them the one. Twin Flame, I have resurrected monuments from moments I’ll remember past lifelines and this lifetime I found you waiting to capture all of me with my frantic moods and silliness on my tongue. How I become a child when I’m not feeling well and it seems most days I am awful, but you are strategic in your approach. You know not to come too close when I’m hungry or I’ll gnaw off an arm or a leg or your ego. Men have tried to conquer or tame. Turn me into something they own. They possess. My precious, they smeagol me out.
The lioness in me has spent too many nights in sheep’s clothing. How I sunbathed in failure for fear, so my tan will cast a shadow over this glow. How you scrub aloe on this skin and kiss the layers down to my dermis. How deep is your love? To the marrow of my bone. To medulla of my hair. To the endocardium of my heart. For I love you to the nucleus of your first atom. I took years of heartbreak to master maneuvering this magic. How deep is your love? (I’ll finish this poem in the morning...)
Alexa, play "Comfortable" by H.E.R.
I love you.
Let me start with that as I hear "Ordinary People" play and I realize this is what John had sang of. See, these legends of love give us vision. And, every day you remind me that I am a storyteller and this little life we have made is something beautiful, is what I prayed for, what I wrote about before you had come and literally swept me off of my feet. We are cocooning in this love. We would have done it anyway regardless of this quarantine. God put you here at the right time, just in case I thought he had made any mistakes with my life as if I had made any wrong turns... He gifted you I and I you. How we sound together? Sounds like the moons humming to the ocean. Move for me. Sing for me, my love. Make a tidal. That Hov cries. I can feel the tears coming down my eyes. And although we are trapped in this house, you make room in me. You travel through me and explore new depths of my knowledge, my experience. You time traveller. You neurologist. How you make a science of this... How you learn and understand and question... And love endlessly to MACS0647-JD and back.
#BlackLivesMatter
2021 is definitely our year. We bought our first home! We are getting married. People keep asking, "Why Guatemala?!" Have you met us? We love to travel! We love museums, ruins, great food, and of course, PLANTS! You are in for an experience when our dream wedding comes to life.
We can't wait to see you there. Don't worry, Guatemala is super affordable. Get your passport ready!!! Happy Booking!