Now that it’s nice and warm outside [too warm, perhaps?] and Maxwell is back, everything’s getting sexier. The ladies are showing off their legs and stuff and, unfortunately, guys are too, but that's OK since it’s hot. [Some white boys, tho, wear shorts all year round, even in the middle of winter. I’ll be.]
But all this love floating around in the air inspired me and I can’t help it – I gotta write something about it.
[Disclaimer: I might be talking here about a car, or a woman.]
When I first met her I had to do a double-take. She was unlike anything I’d ever seen. From any angle, she looked good. That’s rare; a lot of things only look good from one dimension. The ample curves, dimpled fascia and darkened color-scheme, shimmering with the luster of a starlit night full of mischief, were impossible to ignore. I’d stay up nights looking at pictures I’d taken of her, willing the pictures to speak to me, to tell me more about her. For nights on end, this is how it was. I’d been presented with some attractive propositions before, most of them a lot lighter in paintwork - or is it complexion - than she, but when something darker looks really good, it really IS good.
I knew I had to get rid of the one I had then because, deep down, I knew I’d been lying to myself the entire time – the chemistry just wasn’t right. Some things just aren’t meant to be, and I knew I had to give her up and not waste her time, and she mine. And so, it ended. If only it had been amiable.
Sometime later, even before I knew I was ready, I was passing by and there she was, and I knew then. Or maybe I was the one chillin' and she the one passing by, either or. Though she intrigued me, I took my time. Some things you don’t rush into, particularly when it’s important that the situation be nothing like the one preceding it. I danced around her, took my time and did a little research, but mostly I took my time. Then, one day, in spontaneous, uncharacteristic resolve, I plunged right in.
It was akin to jumping off a diving board right into arctic waters. She was so different, so... awakening! To this day, I can still attest to the fact that no one quite moves me like she does. There is the recommended all-important break-in period and I followed the instructions implicitly, because I knew I wanted her to last awhile. I was all nice and easy on her during that break-in period, but it took all my resolve to resist the urge, the need, to see just what she was capable of.
A few weeks and miles later I looked at my watch - no, my cellphone - and realized that, indeed, it was time. Strapping myself in tight, I gripped her tight in both fists, clenching fiercely at her frame lest I flew off her, hit the pedal and roared off into the night. Everything in our path blew by so fast it felt, almost, like Captain Picard would aboard the helm of one of Star Fleet’s finest. [Yes, I’m a Trekkie.] Time ceased to exist but we'd eventually have to slow down, take a breather, refuel, and were off again. For the longest time, this was how it was between us: we’d get up and drive off whenever we wanted, wherever we wanted. I was content to just be with her, to look at her, to open her door and drive her to destinations unknown. As long as I was with her, everything was alright.
And then I almost lost her. Multiple times. Sometimes it was my fault, sometimes hers, sometimes others'. But a short spell without her only made me realize just how much I loved her and couldn’t wait till she came back to me. She always came back a little different, and each time I got a little wiser, but we never lost what we’ve always had.
I’d give her anything, spend money on her without batting an eyelid, and she always gives back, tenfold, what I spend on her. Not necessarily monetarily, though, but in pure thrill and excitement.
She’s a handful - unpredictable, tumultuous, spontaneous... the works – but she's always immensely dependable. I trust her, maybe more than I’ve ever trusted anyone or anything. Every morning I wake up and prod her awake by sticking the key in the ignition, and her engine always turns over without fail. Sometimes I could just be sitting here marinating on the couch and she’d almost telepathically call out to me. Before I know it I’d be out there with her hanging on, watching the galaxies fly by, she and I against the world.
Hip-Hop verse of the day:
“I make describing your beauty my sacred duty
I will write a song, write a book, write a play, make a movie..”
Talib Kweli in Hot Thing