A Different Kind of Love Note

To begin I will say, that the way we were was never enough.

We failed each other. We failed ourselves — and then, without any warning, we learned that perhaps we did not.

Melancholy moments don’t define all of time. They are placed on our path to be learned from and to offer you a space for discernment in your future.

I am elevated by hindsight and moved by joy to be clear about how I spend my waking moments. I believe that love is a verb, a core meal of the day, and our personal responsibility to share with ourselves. The world may try to teach you to hate yourself, but you don’t have to believe it.

Love notes aren’t always romantic. They can also be unapologetically honest, directive, and clear. This is a different kind of love note.

I love myself. I wanted to write I love my life, but that felt wrong. Not because I am daunted with misfortune or that I am unable to meet my goals. That is not the case — it’s more about the state of the world and what is put upon me in order to survive. Overt and inadvertent acts of oppression underscore my life like a well-worn book from the library. Pliable, still the original, but definitely I’ve seen a few things.

I love myself because of what I’m able to create and the new ways of being I find through struggle and triumph. I don’t love how people treat each other, the lies, deception, and often dangerous disregard for humanity.

I do appreciate my heart and the ways in which I’m able to move in the world and keep my nature regardless of the harm other people and institutions have put upon me. I’ve learned that humility is one of my greatest strengths.

Humility can save your life, and others, of course. This is a quality that people can employ and something that isn’t prioritized in the development of you as a person. It’s not enough to say — be humble — that’s not humility at its core. The dictionary definition of words don’t resemble real life in all instances.

Humility is practiced well when a person has a recognition of themselves in relation to other people, institutions, and society at large. Imagine if that was a qualification to be President of the United States. (ha!)

Some of the greatest joys I’m re-learning are in the lack of deceits from another time and the promises of the past are less relevant than the facts of now.

Now it is new and this life is my own — again. A life not shared or wasted with the soulless creatures hiding in angel’s clothing.

There are times when we get it right and the winds that blow in our direction don’t move us off our mark.

Other times we spiral in the direction of subversive fireballs away from the flow of — us. Me. You.

Resistance isn’t always a sign of a malcontent heart. And, it is not always a heart unsettled or unwilling to mature.

Resistance is a sign of strength and an internal knowing that what generally is — doesn’t work. It doesn’t allow for the full expression of personhood and a shared understanding of humanity. It, the convergence of the past present and the future, doesn’t hold the lives of all equally.

For too long our hearts have been broken silenced before we even learned to truly speak. We extinguish our own flame just to be marketable.

For whom and for why? Is this the existence that we want to build a foundation for a future. A future where we keep letting things just — work.

What works?

In some way, we all believe in something because we have proof — others rely on faith, process, and control.

For some, this is the amorphous vision of a higher power, clearly above the wholly inadequate behavior and desires of human beings.

This is not what I believe in. I believe in the power of the human heart, almost to a fault.

I believed that the sacrifice, death, and dismay of another would move the hearts of individuals to take less than they need. These beliefs did not come from a well of joy or an abundance of fair treatment, it started with a deep understanding of my value as a human being.

My value as your first black teacher. My value as a daughter of a man serving a life sentence. My value as a giggler and a storyteller.

My worth, never in coins.

My worth as a friend and partner.

When I’m alone I can be all of my sides — slippery pricks of flowers that never had its thirst satiated.

Self can be subjugated and unsharable. Less than subordinate. The production of self is sabotage.

This is a love letter to those that took too much. To those who sit in their own shame. The ones who need not be named. To the ones that tried to destroy what wasn’t theirs to shape.

I write this love letter to make it clear to myself that I will not stop loving and I will not stop giving my heart to those who truly and deeply love me.

Sincerely mine,

Crystallee