You
If there’s anything the men in my life have taught me, it’s that I don’t need one — that’s why you can be sure that I’ll be willing to wait for you. I know nothing about you — not the name your mother gave you, not the last name your fathers have carried from generation to generation. But there’s something intriguing about the abyss comprised of millions of factoids, a menagerie of things I don’t know about you. I don’t know where to start. I don’t know if I will. But I’d be remiss if I said it wouldn’t be nice to meet you.
If there’s anything the men in my life have taught me, it’s that I don’t need one — that’s why you can be sure that there are things that I’ll expect of you. That you’ll love the Lord your God with all your heart and all your soul and all your strength. That you’ll be a man because I don’t play with fluidity. That you’ll be a father, knowing that if you can’t be I’m more than capable of raising children on my own. I take out my own trash. I pay my own bills. But it would be alright if I did so because I wanted to, and not because I need to.
If there’s anything the men in my life have taught me, it’s that I don’t need one — that’s why I won’t play with you. You’ll understand that being with you is a choice that I make — that I don’t need you. Requited love and dependence are mutually exclusive. I can stand on my own. But independence doesn’t mean I want to be alone.
If there’s anything the men in my life have taught me, it’s that I don’t need one — that’s why you can be sure that there are things that come before you. I won’t answer to you because I answer to God. I don’t worship idols, so you can be sure that you’ll never take His place. You’d become a “him” of the past instead of you if you were so irreverent as to stand in God’s way. I know the devil can quote scripture but the devil isn’t you. But you’d be a “him” from days gone by if you don’t love the Bible, too.
If there’s anything the men in my life have taught me, it’s that I don’t need one — so if it’s meant to be, I’ll love you. If it’s God’s will, you’ll love me. If I’m lucky, I’ll meet you on this side of eternity, before I watch from heaven as my ashes are carried away by my American Ganga. Floating specks soaking up the last of the sun before they sink below the surface and settle in the sand. If I’m lucky, our paths will cross before I fly away. Before my spirit joins my paper cranes at the whim of nothing but the breeze and the breath of God.
If there’s anything the men in my life have taught me, it’s that I don’t need one — so as sure as I’ve thrived in muddy water, I know that you’ve grown with your roots in the concrete. That if He wills it, you’ll bloom where God plants you, bloom beside me. Stand by you, stand by me. Strengthen you, strengthen me. And if not, He is still good. If you’re a “him” of the past and will never be you, it’ll be alright. That’ll be just fine by me.
