"we fell in love the way you fall in leaves."
Juwan "Rocky" Rockwell has had a pretty hard life. Between trying to find a way to fend for himself and dealing with the normal hardships of teenage angst, he had nowhere to turn as an adolescent and no...
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"fairytales & green monsters"
"it was like the Fourth of July, the difference being that the streets were littered with dead leaves and the very things that killed them. Snow was the plague. Winter was its catalyst, yet you were the cure. I always felt warm when you were around.
Rather than a cookout with family and grilled meat, there was an art show with strangers and champagne. Instead of shorts and patriotic apparel, I was clad in a gown that I'd spent two weeks searching for with a new color staining my hair. I wanted to impress you. I wanted your eyes to light up when you saw me, and when you did, it felt as though the stars aligned.
We rang in the New Year with a kiss. The occasion wasn't the only reason I felt fireworks— I feel them every time we touch. I feel them every time you stare into my eyes the way you do. Every day is the Fourth of July with you, and every night is New Year's.
thank you for making every day an occasion worth celebrating.
— With Love, Maria."
I'd been reading this journal for the past hour. I stumbled upon it while looking for wine to pour up. Juwan stowed this particular bottle away, and I knew so because it was still in the bag in which it came. Also in the bag was a book of handwritten poetry and entries specifically written for him. I realized early on that this was the same bag he brought back after chasing Ava, when she found us in the midst of making love.
I was growing nauseous the deeper I delved into the journal, but I simply couldn't tear myself away from it. Reading of all the ways she loved my man only created conflict within myself. It fed my green monster and fueled my cattiness. It also had me reconsidering a few things in regards to the state of my relationships.
Ava wrote about Juwan like he was heaven-sent— like an entity rather than the problematic being that he is. It made me wonder if he was better to her than he'd ever been to me. Maybe she was stuck on the thought of him just as I was.
The latter thought was easier to digest, seeing as though who she was talking about and who Juwan is are two completely different people. Yet, she loves them both, according to what she's written.
I questioned my love for him. I questioned my love, period.
Some of her poems were relatable, and when I found them as such, Marlo came to mind. I hated thinking about him. I hated thinking of what I lost— what I let go of. . . but it was for the best. He deserved better, just as Ava did.
And me? Well, I was stuck here.
I didn't have anybody else. Sweets and I hadn't spoken in nearly a month, and I found myself withdrawing from the girls at the salon. I hadn't spoken to my mother since New Year's, and I've learned not to tell Keisha shit, no matter how small it was.
