No one has noticed the ring on my finger. Truth be told, no one cares. I do things like this all the time –I get wrapped up in whirlwinds of love and disappear into the clouds only to be found destroyed by the impact of my body with the ground. Frequently, it all comes crashing down.
The issue is, I take men more seriously than they take me. Meanwhile, I crack joke after joke along the way. The men who’ve loved me fell first for my sense of humor. I wanted to tell Ashley yesterday. I wanted to send her the same picture I sent Carl –the ring positioned on my finger so that you won’t mistake the diamonds for crystals or the fact that it’s on as a serious engagement… but I even mistook myself. I couldn’t send her that same photo because the thousand words I spoke to Carl aren’t meant for Ashley & visa versa. It’s not that they both won’t get the message, it’s that the message is crafted specially for the person listening. I know I’m not the only one who caters a story to the reader. You see, with Carl… it was mostly about my having gotten the ring. How I had previously decided that I wanted to be proposed to with a simple band so that I don’t have to worry about the size of my rock (it’ll be fine when I pick it out later and Carl says I should pick out my own —with the help of my boo, of course). How I appreciated him being a man and making that move. It was about him showing that he was selfless and can provide. The mere fact that he spent his money on shiny piece of metal shows me that he’s willing to break away from his cash because, to be honest, sometimes a girl need a little help –especially when she won’t admit it. When I tell Ashley the story, I know now that it’ll be different. Ashley will have different questions for me. Particular concerns. I’ve got to speak on how I feel. Is this a good idea? Is he really the one? Am I wrong for accepting it? And if I am, I already have so do I give it back? But wouldn’t that break his heart more? And then there are the things I don’t want to mention at all –although I told the story a total of 3 times. There is the background of what took place that fated Sunday afternoon when we both made choices we shouldn’t have and the pain broke through the skin. The scratches. The bruises. The yell and screaming. The pans. The knife. The push. Then end? At least it was supposed to be until he saw me walking home three days later and told me he had magic in his pockets. He told me to close my eyes and in the midst of the surprise I almost died looking at the metal sphere on my hand. He’s almost killed me twice already.
Should I leave out those details? I keep the quarrels quiet, but we do have a few. Instead, perhaps I should comment more on how he takes out the trash every morning. How he starts almost every sentence with “Yo, babe,” and kisses me softly no matter how fierce our love. How his answer to, “You miss me?” is always “of course.” How his plan for the day is to come home to me after work and he warns me to “stay with the program.” Or how there should be fireworks when we kiss. How I melt in his arms. I am determined to keep the details of us private, but I can’t pretend that we’re perfect –and that is perfect. He is no saint… but he is my savior. On the other hand, there are my concerns. How this moved faster than even I am used to. How I’m afraid to break his heart. How I’m afraid to take this too seriously. How I’m afraid I’m not taking it serious enough. How my love is real. How I don’t really know how to show it. How he’s honestly teaching to be a better woman but I don’t want to go off on a JLO path.. or do I? So you understand, while I don’t want to put all of my business in the streets, I have some pertinent stories to share. I make mistakes. Lots of them… but I’m a good person as well. With good intentions and, if there is a God out there doing his/her/its job, I’m destined for greatness. I deserve rewards. I can tell you why. I can teach you how. If you all don’t take note of my accomplishments, I’m sure you’ll pay attention to my failures –as is our world.
I’ve just got to figure out the correct way to do this. For the first time in my life, I’m involved with a real nigga, forreal. All LOL’s aside… he won’t take kindly to his image being portrayed in poor light. And while he’s somewhat hilarious, he’s not one to be made a joke of. What you all think of us has no effect on me, but what you all think of him could potentially ruin me. I won’t let you see him like that. I think I’ve finally found my point. He’s a perfect as I am, which mean we’ve both got track records we’d rather not discuss and minor malfunctions we’ve attempted to correct. He’s made mistakes –some of which were fueled by mistakes of my own. But I can tell you he tries his hardest not to. “Tough,” is what he calls me. “You not with nothing,” is how he describes me. “Ms 730” is how he saved me in his phone. “Crazy,” he says to sum it up. He knows I’m insane. I told him when we met. Too bad he doesn’t follow me on Twitter or he’d have noticed I freely disclosed that information in my bio. I am also a genius. I think he knows that, too. He says the smarter a person is, the dumber they get. He has patience with me, but knows I’m no fool.
The scariest thing is… I could decide right now that I’m in love with him. I could. I’m just not sure yet. I’ve got to get passed what other people will think. How I don’t need to explain this ring to anyone. How he mentioned “in 3 years” himself in a comment not directed towards me. He may have just snatched me up. I’ve been telling you all that I’m ready for love and here I am. This is where I’ve gotten: 3 years from “there,” apparently.