Enemies in Friend Clothing

"Some people are meant to stay in your heart but not necessarily in your life." 

Powerful - and true. For any zodiac sign, except mine. 

I lost my best friend in the world at age 12, therefore, I call very few people 'friend.' And even then, I do so with caution. It has recently come to my attention that one person I called friend has decided that I not the person I have portrayed myself to be. 

interesting. 

Now granted, in past posts I've openly admitted to being someone very unhappy with who I was. The result - my open and ugly use of the power and trust people had put in my hands. I've since asked for forgiveness from as many people as I can. Knowing now who I am as a person, friend, and brother, I just can't live that life any longer. I've repented to God above and I feel like his love has granted me a clean slate. 

So how is it that even though God forgives me, this friend (who professes to be a man of God) can't do so himself?  In fact, he has gone above and beyond to not only harbor these feelings from the past himself, but to transfer his distaste for me to others. Effectively, he has made my wrongdoing seem to be a condition of my character and not a fault in my actions. 

Seems ironic to me. 

It always those people finding the greatest fault who are completely blinded to their own. Not the fact that I have looked past this friend's molestation attempt or this blatant disrespect for people I love, but that I have taken a nonjudgemental stand seems to have me a bit frustrated. 

I should let it go. Give up the friendship. Right? But a part of me that has always and will always be loyal simply can not extinguish a torch that I so fervently lit. I'd like to say that I am leaving this one to the master. But a part of me feels like I should say something, point out the fact that folk can all of a sudden become so self righteous that they can play judge and jury. I guess it's the easiest way to forget their own sentencing is around the corner. 

Ah well. I assume that one day (soon) the truth will surface, make all of us free and he'll hide in the recesses of life as usual. 

I await the verdict. 

Standing to fall, gaining to lose....

It always happens in my wrist. A tingling that I can't control. Both cold and warm. Unnerving. But, for the longest time, it's let me know that tears are coming.

if I grab it while it's happening, however - then, I can stop it. Or at least delay it long enough to remove myself from a large group of people. For so long, I've compartmentalized my emotions - the way people do with traumatic events. It has been my survival mechanism. Because boys don't cry. 

Another lie I have checked off my list. 

As this year comes to a close and as my birthday approaches, I'm forced (by habit) to take serious reflection. Even in typing this, I know my interpretation is near-sighted. My faith is compromised. My understanding is limited by my circumstance. But I'm human. Flesh and bones, nerves and tissue. A being who was made to live in order to die. 

In reflection, I find myself questioning how much worse the year can find itself in my eyes. How much more can I lose and legitimately not lose my mind. How many times I'll stand on my own to feet only to be knocked down to my knees. Why I try to lead by example only to be ridiculed. How I can build up a reputation of excellence only to destroy it in one fell swoop. 

yada. 

yada. 

It's traumatic - for me, at least. Someone who has always been successful and great at most things I did, to lose at a task hits me like a sledge hammer to the face. Somebody please pinch me. I want to wake up from this reality and return to that place of success. The irony in it all is that every fucking person I have talked to and met, always seems to think that because I have degrees and am pursuing my doctorate that this justifies me as 'successful.' Nawh, not quite. 

I've always been accomplished in school. Life, now that's a different matter altogether. Success for me is surviving the day-to-day without crumbling or falling apart. Making a comfortable life for myself and family and managing the alienation therein. Establishing an independence that at some point justifies me as a man. 

I'm just not there yet. In my eyes, I'm far from it. From it all. 

And unfortunately, I have no solution as to how I should go about developing these deficiencies. 

I would hate to start 2012 in the same slump I'm ending 2011. 

sigh. 

no fancy ending. just a sigh. 

Losing the battle to Win the war

I'm living in the 21st century, Doin' something mean to it, 
Doin' it better than anybody ya ever seen do it
Screams from the haters, got a nice ring to it.  
I guess every superhero need his theme music


No one man should have all that power...... STOP 


Now, I'm fully aware of what point Kanye was getting at here. Self-bolstering, reflective conceit meant to beg the question about his own right to power. Right. I get it. 


However, taking the lyrics as they are, I think Mr. West is onto something. 


power [pou-er] noun

1. the ability to do, act, or perform above others or other things. 

Kings. Queens. Bosses. Athletes. Celebrities. Christians..... All titles of those allotted with power unmatched. Wait. Christians? How'd they fit into this scenario? 


We're living in a time where we are a generation of fools, stronger and more advanced in our access to information but lacking wisdom enough to sustain the world we live in. We react out of fear and the emotional inconsistencies around us, And we have completely forfeited our right to a power that has been instilled in us long before we were even imagined. 


The monotony and homogeneity of my generation speaks to our ability to join together collectively in amazing ways but it also speaks to our inability to question the status quo. We easily let social networks like twitter and Facebook control our lives, become new addictive distractions that take us away from our productivity. We let scripted 'reality tv' generate our ideas about family life and social interactions with our fellow man. We let texting and FaceTime replace genuine communication, a degradation that has been at the core of our loss of true spirit-to-spirit connectedness with our fellow man. It has taken little more than the celebrity popularization of the smallest concept to get my generation to 'jump on the bandwagon' of the next fad. 


I've decided to be different. 


Today. This very day, I've decided to fully inherit what power and strength was meant for my generation. I'm disturbed though at how reckless I have been, we have been, at using the gift of power. I've torn down those closest to me, those I've called brother and sister, foolishly misunderstanding that at the core of hurt IS hurt. For too long, I've been unhappy with the person I had grown to become - unhappy with my weight, the way I looked, my need for attention, etc. In my outer circle, I surrounded myself by 'yes men and women' who were obvious choices for my self-degradation. Worse than this, I placed in my inner circle individuals with whom I shared similar blockades to power. Popular for all the wrong reasons, drowning ourselves in alcohol, self indulgence, and an elevated sense of self, and making a conscious commitment to being surface individuals to those who might need our ministry - we created a life that many would covet and yet we were losing out on our calling. 


By simply sitting around and gossiping, I gave my power away. I let the wrong spirit become material in the lives of others while, concurrently, darkening my heart, destroying the essence of what I knew to be my true self. And then it hit me. I AM NOT EXEMPT. If those I called 'friend' would sit around and gossip WITH me ABOUT others, then on mad day, those I called 'friend' could talk ABOUT me WITH others - just as easily. It's the bargain recklessness makes with the promise of a power strong enough to topple mountains. 


I've made a choice to take back my power. I vow to uplift others, even in times where they condemn me. I want to learn to speak blessings and life into the existence of others. 


Who knew Mr. West was actually a preacher! Let's take back what's ours! 


fin.

Pond Water

It feels like I've stared for several years in pond water, foolishly trying to capture a glimpse of the real me. A glossy fractured image of a once focused, vibrant, energetic me lay somewhere in the dense folds of nature's calm. There have been times when I've dared to look away, to see that maybe what the world is showing me just might not line up with who I really am. But, I've been a coward - afraid to tap into that which was infused in me a millennium before I was the faintest concept of my parents' love.

And yet, I saw it last night. I recklessly and intentionally looked away from the pond water, finding myself in a room of mirrors. Large cascading mirrors that surrounded me, threatened me with the truth of who I really was against the person I had become. It was in a single moment of vulnerability that I found MY truth laying between the facade of me and a portrait I keep to remind me of my innocence.

There it was.

There I was. Am.

So many relationships, friendships, and connections I have made with people have been founded under the guise of someone who isn't me. I've been so closed to mostly everyone. And my practices as a person haven't aligned with my character. I've hurt people - some intentionally. I've entertained foolishness at the cost of friendship. No more. I've become lazy, unmotivated and out of tune with that which is greater than me. That ends today.

I'm tired of being one of those "daddy wasn't there" kind of people who let their life's story be less than a powerful indicator for change and appreciation. I want to go beyond what my foundation is and write my own story. I guess it's no coincidence that I'm embarking on my passion through pharmacy.

Clarity and purpose must go hand in hand. I've got both - now. My heart is open to love, though I am not forcing it. My mind is going to be enriched by more literature and study than social media and foolishness. I am pushing my body's physical self to the limits! It's as though I've been reunited with an old friend.

 So, let me introduce you to me, the real me:

Johmyrin Joshua Johnson.

Where's my Happy Father's Day?

She called. And though quiet on the other end, her silence spoke words that I digest this very day. Had I paid more attention to the signs - or took a moment to actually acknowledge the fact that her behavior had changed, then maybe (just, maybe) I would have been able to sense the bomb that was about to befall me.

6 months prior to this, she and I had met - cupid's own sense of humor wrought from New Orleans summer heat exhaustion, I'm sure. We met and immediately understood the physical attraction for one another. This same attraction would weave our caramel bodies in lustful, heated, unprotected indulgence for most if not all of that memorable summer. She was older, by 4 years. A 17 year old kid like me was more than willing to satisfy his desires while learning several tricks along the way. She pampered me. She cooked for me. We wound up living together in a world that was completely one of our own creation. Corny I know, but it was as if time, for us, stood still.

It was in this same fictitious state of being that we also lost our true sense of reality and the decisions that came along with being foolishly enamored with someone else. We forgot that after this summer of working together, living together, making love-sick decisions together, we'd have to return to our realities - to the places where consequence is always the twin brother to action. I, particularly, could not comprehend that any one decision I made in that fantasy could materialize into something dreadful once all the smoke and mirrors disappeared.

I was wrong. Dead wrong.

It was that silence on the other side of the phone that was a cold reminder to me that my summer of immature decisions had gained speed and caught up with me. The last interaction she and I had was sad. She had an appetite change, only wanting rice because much else made her very ill. In concern for her health, she decided that she would seek doctor's care as soon as she returned to Pennsylvania. The details were left out, so I assumed it to be too personal a matter for me to "dig deep." And yet, that ignorance or apathy, I'd assume, is the single most regrettable decision I have ever made.

She sniffed and broke the silence. And as soon as I began to speak, she broke down. A flood of tears were expressed through murmurs, choking and sniffling. And it was there, in that moment, that those two worlds converged. Don't ask me why, up to that point, I had no clue about the contents of the call. But it became painfully clear that I "made" more than love that summer. And she corrected our creation in a doctor's visit that would forever give me nightmares.

It was a boy.

I've seen his face a million times in my dreams. And while I have forgiven her selfish, one-sided decision, it took me years to recognize that I haven't (and will probably never) forgive myself.

So, where's my Happy Father's Day? When mothers lose babies to miscarriage, there are rituals and candle light vigils, all done to honor the life of what could be. Nevertheless, society neglects man as a feelings creature. We just don't get that luxury. We also don't get recognition as fathers when our unborn children die. I understand women's rights to her body but there is no reconciliation of this situation taking a man under consideration.

And because of this, he is gone - forever. Now, please, don't look to pity me. I am hard enough on myself as is. Some have challenged me to look at my life now without the responsibility of a child. I get that. However, I have been taught that children are blessings. If that is truly the case, then I have lost an irreplaceable blessing. And I am given the painful reminder every year about how much of a regrettable mishap I am a part of.

In my own little way, I still celebrate today - as a Father in the making. I just hope that one day, I can see his real face instead of the ghost of an unborn one that has plagued me in this lifetime.

Here's to being the inadvertent inheritor of my own bad decisions.

Cheers.

The Paradox of Relationships: A Man's Perspective

I choose my titles carefully.

The one message I want to impart to my readers is that I am indeed a MAN who is giving his perspective on relationships - not a boy hypothesizing about things which he has seen only on TV or through the eyes of friends who have staggering maturity levels as well. I've lived enough to have strong conclusions about things. Just thought I'd share them with the world.

Relationships are indeed a paradox.

So much so that it shouldn't be a surprise that they don't last too often and the rarity of longevity (i.e. marriage) is celebrated with immense amounts of pomp and circumstance. Well, it doesn't surprise me. But I think as a man, there is a part of me that has checked out on friends who hold this childish belief in prince/princess charming being out there, waiting to be found so that they can live happily ever after. Wait. Let's be more specific. There are FEMALES out in the world who are waiting, trained up from toddlers how to be codependent, helpless, feeble brained, successful-enough housewives-to-be. And because we socialize our young girls to emulate the Nicki Minaj's of the world, they continue to search for a dream that they could get if only they invited the chase, and made a real man work for the price of her heart.

Females like this don't exist. Free-males enter stage left.

It's a paradox ladies. A man, not a boy, will never ask more of you than he is willing to provide at least 3-4 times for you. The sense of security he'll give you is only a supplement to what you should already have developed in yourself. And sex - doesn't exist. He wants to make love to your mind first, penetrating your passion with sweet everythings and soft nothings, supporting your wettest (and driest) dreams by anticipating your needs over his own. He is satisfied when you are satisfied. He holds on by letting go and he imitates God's promises to man by making only those for which he can exclusively provide.

But please don't be fooled by the rhetoric. I'm a real man from a "broken" family. The model for stability in relationships for me doesn't exist. But I refuse to use the simplistic nature of my upbringing as a crutch upon which my desired paradox shall be crushed.

Yes. I said it. I want the paradox. Because paradoxes are hard to maintain. They are challenges to manage and they are inherently difficult to comprehend. And yet, the beauty of a paradox lies in its ability to be transparent to those who exist within it.

I understand it won't be easy. But it makes it easier for me to assume that maybe a little more that 10% of women in New Orleans have standards, class, and self-worth. That I can't simply send a text at 3am and get a positive response for sex. Ask ANY REAL MAN! In a world where everything is McDonaldized, fast, made-to-order - it's refreshing, new, intriguing and sexy to find that one woman who won't let me "have it my way." Thus, the paradox. And ladies, don't fall for the hype. Those of us who cheat do so because we haven't accepted the paradox. We've reneged to what is easiest for us over what's worth our time. She (or YOU) is temporary and a barbershop jumpoff story AT BEST. The real men stand apart. There's not much that can intimidate us. We want the paradox because we can't live a life with much less!

It saddens me really. I know very few women whose standards are so high. Maybe a move to a metropolitan city can help me out a bit. It's that or I'm going into the monastery!

Until then, I'll continue to search for the hard-to-catch real women. All you other heauxs can continue to settle and act disappointed when the reality you create becomes the painful life you have to live.

my three cents.

fin.

Same ole, same old...

Hell for me is not a fiery pit of pain and anguish. Instead it would be a life of opening my ears to the same people with the same bullshit everyday for an eternity. And while they are okay with the fact the cyclical nature of their issues usually points at a fault in them, I can do nothing but listen. Ears bleeding, eyes wide open and listening. The thought causes a single tear to roll down my face. Okay, Maybe, it doesn't. I was adding a hint of drama. Nevertheless, I digress. 

I've outgrown many of the people in my life. And though I hate the phrase, "Eagles fly alone," it seems very apparent that the more one grows in this world, the more isolated he or she becomes. Honestly though, how many times is it okay to listen to the same lame song about people's fixable problems without snapping on them about the reality they exist in!? I want to be a great friend, yet, a part of me feels like I've enabled some of the people in my life by just listening.

Well, I'm no longer doing that. Because it frustrates me to a degree that almost feels like anger. And I don't get angry. So, before I go down that road, I'll take myself out of the equation first. 

Case in point: I've had several friends in the same financial situation for quite some time. They drink and party and want to "live the life" but complain about being broke. About working at 'shitty' jobs. About not having a degree. Or friends who have the same questions about their faux relationships, how they can't bag the chick or dude that they're cheating with, etc. etc. etc. Or the friend with body image issues (pause) Let me not even elaborate.

What I'm learning is that I've extended my thresholds to a point that has made people way too comfortable with me in their lives. And that ends now. I literally told my mom today, if I can predict the nature of your rant about your siblings, its probably because YOU have done nothing to change things on your end. Learned helplessness is an enabler's best friend. Used so often that you neglect yourself, your time, and your happiness. Unfortunately enough for my friends, I am NO LONGER taking applications for this particular job. And I refuse to be helpless to the emotional leeches in my life. 

I guess what I've had is a revelation. My ear is closed to any banter that is not grounded in solutions-based resolve. I get you. Sometimes, people just need to vent. And that's fine. But its not fine all the time. We (humans) have full capacity to make this world work for us, to tip the scales in our favor. And yet some of us remain in a rut while we maintain friendships that do nothing to facilitate growth out of that rut. 

Well, you can count on this: I am not longer entertaining that same old bullshit. 

Pretty Little Liars...

She turned to him, gazing upon his face. With the simplest smile, she places the pomegranate in his hand. "Eat it. A friend says we'll be wiser for it," she encourages. Without the slightest hesitation, young Adam swiftly lifts the fruit to his lips, piqued with hunger. He bites. The space around him begins to move slightly faster than his once beautiful wife who is standing in front of him. And yet, even she appears different. His body goes limber and he begins to fall. He closes his eyes and awaits the feeling of the impact of his head bouncing intensely off the ground. Later, he is awakened - a voice unfamiliar. His wife's face greets him in a sad, tender tone. "Wake up, dear." He's surprised. Yet, the bitterness he tastes is new, unfamiliar, terrible. He is angry. Something has gone wrong. This was not the promise she had made him.

It's always the ones you trust. And while I don't blame Eve for being tricked into sin, I still think the strong message from this story is one that alludes to the fact that the only lies that truly change relationships are those told between friends.

This is not to say that strangers don't do sufficient damage by their lies; It just feels different, though. I can easily brush off the lies of individuals with whom I haven't had shared experiences or don't necessarily encounter on a daily basis. Those people who rarely show up on my phone register or whose last names escape me in casual conversation. You get what I'm saying?!

Lies from a stranger sting but the lies from a friend hold more weight than one's universe can usually compartmentalize in one sitting. At least, that's the case for me.

Just as deceit separated man from God, so too do lies build true wedges between friends. Aside from the biblical allusion, how pitiful must one be to fulfill their immediate needs with a reality created to suit only their prescription! And yet, as soon as they are exposed, liars wonder why they are alone.

Don't confuse this entry or any others that I compose with judgmental rhetoric aimed at pointing out any one person. I've lied. So, I have no place to judge. However, I am learning that I need to surround myself with people who are, at least, trying to practice some form of integrity among friends. My only fear is that there aren't too many people left out there.

Nevertheless, I'll press on. I'm looking for that truth that no man can conjure up - the kind that truly makes you free. I just hope I don't have to make this journey alone.

Here's to you Adam and Eve.... you simple fuckers.

fin.

The Cognitive Dissonance of Forgiveness

–noun Psychology .

anxiety that results from simultaneously holding contradictory orotherwise incompatible attitudes, beliefs, or the like, as when onelikes a person but disapproves strongly of one of his or her habits

A phrase coined by Leon Festinger, a noted Psychologist, cognitive dissonance is a phenomenon that characterizes a person's mental state where what one believes is in opposition to their actions and feelings. It has become my excuse for people of the world who have told me that they are trustworthy and honest and that they show integrity but in actuality do the exact opposite.

I do this to avoid calling them FUCKING LIARS. 

Let's be totally clear about two things: 

1. I've lied before and have admitted it. 

2. I've lied before and will never admit it. 

I'm definitely not perfect - by any means. I've told my share of lies - both big and small - BUT the difference between me and most people out in the world is that I have an extremely difficult time lying to people who I know and love. My mom - haven't lied to her since I was 12. I just can't bring myself to do it. My friends - I never have a reason to be dishonest with them so it's never a matter of protocol. The guy on the corner who asks for my loose dollar - sir, you will get lied to. 

But I've inherited in this time, a bunch of people I who wear masks of trust, safety, and security - all to reveal how poor in character they really are as people. But why me? Sounds juvenile. But I'd really like to know why people think its okay to tell me lies just to "impress" me or to maintain an image. AND every single time, I've gone back and shown genuine forgiveness. 

However, as I enter into my first year of pharmacy school. my priorities have changed. My tolerance for the dumb shit is at an all time low. I know my purpose on this planet and I just don't have the time to share that with people who aren't worth my time. And yet, through forgiveness, I have come to realize that I show a great amount of cognitive dissonance! 

See, I forgive as an investment in my own forgiveness by God the father. I usually have to couple this with forgetting, letting go of all the anger, pain, heartache, feelings of distrust, etc. And yet, I have moments that, though i've forgiven these people, I want nothing to do with them. On the contrary, there have been some "friends" who have lied repeatedly and my heart just won't let me alienate them from my life. SHIT! 

Maybe I'm no better than those who experience cognitive dissonance. I happen to exhibit all the signs. Ugh. 

I just can't win. I guess I'll have to hold people at arm's length until they can prove themselves worthy of the title "friend." 

We have stopped listening...

He was a tall man. 6'2" at his highest. Though old age had riddled his spin in a bowed shape over the past 20 years. The richest color of negro black, this man held a young boy on his lap, who by contrast, one would imagine he shared no relationship. The comfort and joy found in the almond shaped, grey colored highlights of the boys eyes told a different story. He was indeed a relative - or, at least, perceived as one. The caramel colored youth sat quietly, as if he was pacified by this old man's heartbeat alone. Story after story, he told the boy - who sat in awe at the sounds his imagination created. Dogs barking, water hydrants pelting human flesh, grass been shuffled briskly under the feet of men and women looking for a better life. A smile connected this youth to the old man. He didn't know if the little boy was too young to understand the underlying messages of his stories. But, he told them still. At a minimum, he could tell that a bond was strengthened by his voice. That made the old man smile. 


I did understand, Paw Paw.

Not so deeply as I do today. But enough that I am forever grateful for having a reality that my very footsteps trod on grounds freed to me from 2 generations of separation from Jim Crow laws and institutionalized slavery.

And even I have gotten comfortable.

I've parlayed with the majority, ate at their table, lost myself in their fictitious "culture" of hamburger bun fantasies of the American dream. I stopped listening. I neglected to remember. I've done exactly what kids my age were taught to do. Hate myself enough to forget what truly matters.

At the age of 18, I made a life long commitment to Alpha Phi Alpha Fraternity, Inc. - the first intercollegiate fraternity for men of color and the official start of the negro civil rights movement. 7 young courageous men had the audacity to demand equality and support from the white majority while empowering other disparaged blacks to take ownership in a country they had built. Today, on the anniversary of Bro. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.'s holiday celebration, a local chapter of this same fraternity hosted a frat party at "The Frat House," a club that only 6 months ago upheld and enforced a policy that young [black] men with long hair were prohibited entrance into the establishment.

We have stopped listening.

But, I sit here blogging about it. I did nothing to stop it. I did nothing to educate those brothers about the party at all. So, I really am no better than those young boys. And yet, no other older black man (or Alpha, for that matter) said anything either. Steel has neglected to sharpen steel. This is why events like this persist. Boys with dreadlocks being asked to "step aside" becomes a policy that is accepted by not only whites, but blacks (like me) who don't fit the stereotype. Collective suffering has ended. I am no longer my brother's keeper. In fact, I've been saying "fuck you, brother - 'act whiter and quit causing trouble.'"

We have stopped listening.

I've specialized in self-hate for far too long. Civil rights for blacks is being threatened on a different front these days - and we have to be equipped with the necessary tools to encounter it. I share the same blood as my Paw Paw, whose body inherited permanent reminders of the cost of freedom and equity. I'm not exactly sure how to go about operating in the framework of society today - especially since I haven't honed my skill set to address these issues effectively. But I know what the problems are. My Paw Paw warned me of them 20 or so years ago. I owe it to him - at least - to do something.

I am listening.

Sometimes I cry....

I can't say what I just experienced was an epiphany. It was closer to a revelation.

I've been in love.

There. I said it. I guess, it wasn't until just now that I felt it.

It's amazing the places music can take you when you just sit back and listen. Eric Benet didn't just belt out a few harmonic notes. He made a written confession, where the sound dripping wet from his microphone was the only remaining evidence of the crime he had committed. And as he pushed through each note, I took ownership of an experience to which I wonder daily if I will ever partake.

I. MISS. HER.

I've moved on. Honestly. It's just hard for me to sit and stare at this computer screen 3 years later and think how hindsight has been my greatest teacher up to this point. It's frustrating.

Times like these I need a good mirror and razor, so that I can stare at myself and strategically cut away all the mistakes I've made in the past. The wear and tear of my immaturity show in the fatigue of my eyes. And while I know God does everything for a reason, I am worried that I may have messed up my one chance - at love.

I wasn't open or vulnerable enough. I wasn't warm or accommodating. I didn't text "I love you" when I felt it in my heart. I didn't think about her as much as she thought about me. I was a pissy little boy who was used to being catered to and I took complete advantage of that. Now, as a grown man, I hate that my timeline includes such point. It's interesting, though. Every other thing I've done in my life has set me up for this next phase. Well, everything except that. It seems like my goals for career and professional aspiration have fallen neatly in place. Emotional, romance, intimacy - these all tell a different story.

Since that relationship, most of my interaction has been meaningless. I don't compare other girls to her but I haven't looked a girl in the face and immediately felt what we felt. Had I only been humble enough to know the temperament of her heart, I would probably be married with kids today. But I foolishly fulfilled my selfish wants by entertaining myself with people I honestly couldn't care much less about. Fake "friends," fair-weather yes men and women have since occupied my time offering nothing more than a distraction. Fools.

Maybe my expectations of finding another like her are too historically based. Nevertheless, I need some rubric to measure from. I guess time will tell. One can never know. What I do know is this: I am praying that God send me love - whether it be staring me in the face or out in the world waiting to be found.

I need to write Mr. Benet and thank him. Though I am still unsure that I am entitled to love again, I at least have a starting point and a slew of lessons learned from the past. I'm looking forward with an open heart.

She would want that for me.

fin.