Someone by Justin Pines

I haven’t done a short story in years so we’ll see how this shit goes. The most consistent lesson black men ever taught me is how to run away. How to run away from responsibilities. How to run away from women. How to run away from themselves. For the last few months I’ve been running away from my feelings for someone. Someone who I tried to convince myself was no one. So much so that when I realized they were someone to me I had an anxiety attack and had to reach out to my therapist who was on vacation so he didn’t reach back. Thanks nigga. I’ve been thinking about how no one becomes someone to a person.

Is it all the little things that on first glance you miss? Or don’t want to admit that exist due to prior commitments. To say life sneaks up on you is an obvious and kinda pointless sentence. Because we all know it will but have no idea of what to do when it does. The only real concrete answer is Life is Life. Life will only ever be life. Life is all there is and all there ever will be. Even death is life because it’s a part of the process.

And I fucking hate the process. I hate anything I can’t control. It’s how America raised me.

Too often with lovers we try to control each other. With words, with looks, with sex. With whatever tool God gave us to express affection and care that we weaponize to make guns pointed at each other’s hearts. How do you tell someone to love is not something to own in a country where everything is for sale?

Ever since I was a child I wanted to belong to someone. I wanted to have a person to cherish to give all the affection and love I could. And in turn their job would be too fill the emptiness I felt from my father leaving. An impossible task. Even as a child I realize now that this person I desired the reason I wanted her is to shower her with the love my mother was denied.

I’m sorry if that line was written badly. I’m crying at the moment. A friend told me she loved my vulnerability. And I want to say I loathe my loneliness. It’s a lot being everyone’s happiness while feeling empty. This week I cried two days in a row for 30 minutes. Every time I hear “All For You” by Janet Jackson I just start crying. The most comfortable way for me to describe what I’m currently going through is I lost a person. Which is really vague and feels like I’m trying to maintain a shitty IG aesthetic. But I’m not ready to actually publicly say what it is.

In a way what I’m going through is mourning. I’m mourning someone who hasn’t actually died. I’m mourning the future we built in our heads. The what ifs hurt but the what is hurts more. And the what was hurts most.

And that’s why “All For You” makes me cry. The words “It’s all for you. If you really want it. It’s all for you. If you say you need it it’s all for you. If you gotta have it it’s all for you”. As long as I’m alive a part of my soul will always be all for you. A part of my heart will always be all for you. “Tell me you’re the only one” that gets me every time. It traps me in the memories. It’s like the past becomes a knife and everything just cuts.

Have you ever cried so hard it felt like your face was in actual pain?

She compared my need for validation to a dog. Maybe we were just puppy love. Maybe we’re all unpacking the scars our parents decisions created whether we know it or not. I think my end goal is subconsciously maybe to feel how it felt before my mom died which I know is impossible. That’s why it hurts so much.

But back to someone. It’s hard to describe how I feel about her especially publicly even tho I doubt many will read this. Which I guess poses the question why put this out? The answer is I spent so much time writing things that never came out that I dislike writing now if I feel it’s not for a purpose. So I guess knowing I’ma put this out gives me the drive to finish it.

I’m also scared of the reaction. But for me the point of art is to figure out life so I guess this is being true to myself or whatever.

She is beautiful. I play the song “Sweet Lady” by Tyrese when thinking about her. As if I’m ever not. There’s something really primal to me about his singing on there that connects to me. It’s like a desperate longing feeling it gives me. I make jokes to my boy that she makes me feel like a crackhead. She’s like cocaine. When I felt something progress I texted my therapist “I have graduated from cocaine to heroin we are on Jim Morrison tub vibes”

Infatuation is a motherfucker. She came to my job once. She was wearing makeup. I didn’t realize it was her at first. When I realized it was her I did my best to hold together my composure. She looked gorgeous and that all stuck with me but one of the most memorable things that night was her hair. It was styled in a way that reminded me of my grandma’s hair. It brought me back to her I guess. Fuck.

I don’t know if i’m no one to someone. I just know how I feel. And it’s scary how much I feel for her. Not white person kill a bitch whole family if I get rejected scary. It’s just really intense. I feel soft in her hair. I love the look in her eyes. I get lost in her lips. And I am a moron. Like all the men in my family.

A boy is a gun but a girl is a knife. She says one word and penetrates through all my walls. It’s so easy to get lost in these feelings. I wish I could say it was lust cause then I could just nut and keep it pushin. I get ecstatic whenever I see her. She’s incredibly kind, caring, sweet and genuinely loving to everyone but me.

Vita Sackville-West wrote this to Virginia Woolf in the midst of their affair. “ I am reduced to a thing that wants Virginia. I just miss you in a quite simple desperate human way”. I am also reduced to a thing that wants someone. I say a speech and right after I’m back smoking crack. I go to work and spend the shift hoping to see her. I walk outside and see the type of car she drives and I immediately think it’s her.

She should have been a cop the way she shot my black ass down. In good news I’m not in love but the thought of her has become my oxygen. The smell of her is sweeter than flowers. Her skin like sunshine.

I can write a million dumb ass sentences and the feeling doesn’t change.

There’s two things I’ve known about myself for years. 1. I’m in love with the idea of love. 2. And I’m in love with humanity. And I’m going to be fucked if I fall in love with her. That probably was a defense mechanism to manage an illusion of control. Which I have none. I am Tyrone Biggums running into his intervention screaming “IS THIS THE 5'O CLOCK FREE CRACK GIVEAWAY”.

The truth is I’m a fool like the men I grew up with. Who I spent my life running away from. But I’ll be damned if she isn’t one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen. I wrote all this and still am in the same place. If I can write a speech as pretty as her laugh I’ll be remembered as the best writer ever.

They say the first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem. WELL NIGGA I BEEN ADMITTING I’VE HAD A PROBLEM FOR 6 MONTHS. what now?

I’ma end this with the hook of “Just Friends” by Musiq Soulchild cause I think of her whenever I hear it.

“I’m not trying to pressure you

Just can’t stop thinking about you

You ain’t even really gotta be my girlfriend

I just wanna know your name

And maybe sometime

We can hook up

Hang out

Just chill”

Sincerely yours,

Your friendly neighborhood revolutionary/crackhead