I wake up to the honey buttered toast on a thin china plate.
Chamomile just at the right temperature.
Brown sugar sprinkled on my fresh strawberries.
If I want any caramel macchiato there’s still some left on the stove warm for me.
Peeled and sliced oranges with crisp bacon.
.
.
.

All that you promised to make me when we move in together and start a life together. Guess I'll never get that Sunday breakfast.

He's not coming back.
Leave it alone.
He's not going to call.
He's not going to text.
There will be no ringing of the doorbell,
No knocking of the door.
He's not coming tomorrow.
He's not coming next week.
He's not even going to come next month.
Years will go by you won't see him.
You're not going to hear his voice.
You're not going to see his face.
He's gone.
Just like that.
With a blink of an eye and and a twinkle of a star.
Flash of light.
Gone.
Seasons will pass but he won't pass your house.
He is now a fiction of your imagination.
He never existed.
He's a replayed cassette tape of a vivid once had.
A chapter you've folded a crease on to reread again.
He's nothing but a memory.
A ghostly wind that overcasts you.
Broken clock stuck on 12 o'clock
He's never going to show his face again.
He's out of existence.
Let it be.
It's over.

Barack Obama, first US President of African origin.
Langston Hughes, earliest innovators of then-new literary jazz
                                     poetry.
Angela Davis, African American political activist, and author
Coretta Scott King, author, activist, and civil rights leader
Katherine Johnson, African-American mathematician

Anita Baker, African American singer-songwriter
Muhammed Ali, African American professional boxer and activist
Erykah Badu, African American singer-songwriter activist
Rosa Parks, the mother of the freedom movement and civil rights
Ida B Wells, African-American journalist and feminist
Colin Powell, statesman and retired four-star general in US Army
Al Sharpton, civil rights activist and Baptist minister
N*elson Mandela, South African anti-apartheid revolutionary
                                   political leader

It was at that moment.
I knew.
I was in confusion.
Never would I think I would be sitting in the bedroom with a fan propped up against my face watching my ex playing PAC Man on the T.V...
Yes,
the room we shared every living breathing moment together.
Why was I there you might ask?
Well because I decided to be there.
Nothing of what you think,
just simply being there.
I prayed and vowed I'd never see him ever again,
I prayed and vowed we'd never cross roads.
But for some reason,
God had other plans.
Why? That I do not know.
I sometimes felt God brought him back in so that I can receive the proper closure I needed and then afterwards leave.
I also believed God knew we had a bond that wasn't going to be found in another person no matter how hard we tried.
“There's only one of one person.”
Doesn't mean we need to be together.
We won’t be together.
Ever.
Can it just mean we can't avoid each other?
Or can we?
We can.
And we did.
I could've said no to meeting up at that McDonald's,
I could've said no to hanging out day by day,
I could've said no to being friends,
I could’ve said no to the ***.
But I didn't.
My love for him made all the decisions.
Latia wasn’t.
In the beginning of it all,
I always said I'd rather us be friends than never seeing each other again because I couldn't bear him knowing all about me and all the funny inside joke memories just gone.
But he moved to Texas and we left on a sour note.
Maybe it was meant that way.
So, I keep this ***** little secret of mine only between my close friend and I because she's the only one that understood this whole situation from the beginning and wouldn't be mad at the fact I still associated my life with him.
Yea, it's my life and no one controls what I do or say or who I hang with,
but I just know...
deep down,
controversy would’ve spurred and everyone would look down on me as if I was a hypocrite or a girl who cried wolf.
Also,
if anything went haywire,
I didn’t want the whole world to know and I hear the backlash of it all.
So no-one but her knows about this.
Being in that room,
being in his presence,
I had to take things as a grain of salt.
Simply because none of it was serious or as deep as I would like it, it was just a casual “friendly bond”.
So I thought.
They always said,
"It's a myth being friends with an ex."
They were right.
It's hard being friends with someone you're in love with,
but it's easy being friends with someone you've only dated for a week or month.
So I sat there,
watching him play PAC man, wondering why the hell I was there and what the purpose in all that was.