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Creative Director @ VFE
An Affair With Creation
<p>There’s this thing about love.</p><p>We all arrive at it differently.</p><p>For some, it’s fingers tracing warm skin,</p><p>the taste of strawberry lipstick lingering on a tongue,</p><p>bodies speaking a language words could never touch.</p><p>Pure ecstasy, they call it.</p><p>I used to think that’s how I’d find it too.</p><p>Maybe someone would bring me breakfast in bed,</p><p>pull me into clumsy dances in the living room,</p><p>laugh at me crying over a dead dog in a 2 a.m. telenovela.</p><p>Someone to share kisses, cuddles, softness with.</p><p>Someone human.</p><p>And I did fall in love.</p><p>Just… not the way I was taught to expect.</p><p>Love didn’t arrive as touch.</p><p>Not as desire.</p><p>Not as skin on skin or breath against my neck.</p><p>I found myself in paradise,</p><p>but not the kind I had rehearsed in my head.</p><p>She didn’t come wrapped in melanin and a pretty smile.</p><p>She didn’t come with glossy lips or open arms.</p><p>She came demanding.</p><p>Restless.</p><p>Unforgiving.</p><p>Sometimes she shines.</p><p>Sometimes she exhausts you.</p><p>Sometimes she makes you question every choice that led you to her.</p><p>But most days—most sacred days—</p><p>she makes you feel blessed you chose her.</p><p>She is the kind of choice</p><p>that renders every other choice meaningless.</p><p>How do I explain this?</p><p>She is love spoken in a thousand languages,</p><p>each one unfinished, each one honest.</p><p>She exists in a million versions of herself,</p><p>and I love every contradiction.</p><p>I fell in love with her colours—</p><p>the violent ones, the tender ones,</p><p>the ones that bleed when you press too hard.</p><p>Even when she’s dull, dim, exhausted,</p><p>she is never less beautiful.</p><p>While the world celebrates roses, kisses, and red-and-white gestures,</p><p>I celebrate this love.</p><p>The love that gave me purpose.</p><p>The love that fed me life when nothing else could.</p><p>Who is she?</p><p>She is art.</p><p>She is sheer fabric clinging to skin on a windy beach day.</p><p>She is softness forged from sweat and hardship.</p><p>She is devotion without guarantees.</p><p>She is my craft.</p><p>My choosing.</p><p>My perfect valentine.</p>
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