Black Love; my truth

It's February and there are two things in the air: love and blackness. And to combine the two is like whoa!

Black love is so complex. I hear the sighs and see the head-shakes...the whispers challenging that ALL love is complex, and that may be true. But that isn't my truth.

I only know of Black love.

Love as in memories of being seated between my mommy's thighs while she greased my scalp, of being held by my father after a whipping and being told, "I'm doing this because I love you. It hurts me just as much as it hurts you."

I'm speaking of a love that makes my man grab my hand, intertwining our fingers, while being followed in the store...Black love.

The kind of love that knows struggle to the point it makes us emotionally bound even though we are strangers...Black love.

A love that makes our hips ride bass lines because we have jungle in our blood...Black love.

Through our kinks, relaxers, press and curls, we gather together gossiping about this Black love and that Black love; getting gorgeous for the Black love at home.

Waiting for bald fades, line-ups, ceasers, and goatee trims, Black love floats through the air in the form of jokes, jives, and high fives.

As we waltz through February, I look forward to being more aware of the complexity of Black love. How about you?

Stay peace