The Morning After...

The day after Valentine's Day should always be remembered during the hustle and bustle of romantic preparations. In fact, in those endless books on romance and myriad articles touting the wonder that is Valentine's Day, there should always be a little disclaimer that warns about the day after. It should read something like this...

NOTE: The day after Valentine's Day is either one of two things - filled with whispered I love yous and sporadic left-over romantic love making... or just fucked up.

Mine, as usual, falls under the latter of the two.

Two years ago today, me and my ex, had our first BIG break up, one that lasted more than a few days, more like several months. Said break up sparked a series of on and off relations between us with the last ending a week ago. But that's not what makes this Post-Valentine's-Day suck.

What makes it what it is for me today is me. Me. I'm tired of me right now. I'm tired of loving people who really don't love me back. People who "love" or maybe "care" (love's weaker sister who often shows up when people are too scared to claim her sister) based on how they deem appropriate but maybe not on how or what I need. I'm tired of loving people who can't appreciate the gift that is my love and who take it for granted. I'm tired of wishing and hoping and dreaming that maybe one day they'll love me back the way I need it, if at all. I'm tired of feeling like the act of loving is more of a battle than a beauty. I'm tired of being ashamed of my love.

I can admit that there are two mes. There is the me that doesn't trust you and so is nice, and funny, and happy and bright and cheerful and all those things that the real me possesses, but not necessarily who the real me is. Then there is the me who really trusts you and so she puts all of herself out there to you for you to love. There are very few people who get to see her. My ex was not one of them. Only one person with whom I have been romantically involved has ever met her. Right now, I'm kind of sad that she did.

I admit that I want to be loved. I think we all do. But we all don't talk about it, at least not that way. I admit that I am so tired of giving my love to people who can't or won't understand it. I'm tired of convincing myself that what they give me is enough. Because it's not. I think I need to learn not to trust my heart in the hands of someone else because just because they can hold it, doesn't mean they know how to stroke it like I do. I need not trust someone else to have my best interest in mind, because we're all human and as humans our first instinct is self-preservation. I need to know that in the battle that is love, when my heart is in someone else's hands, survival of the fittest will always kick her ass. Always.

But I still want to be loved though. These last couple of years have involved a lot of self-work. A lot of getting to know me and growing to love me. And I'm proud to say that yes, I do love me. When this whole thing began, it was India.Arie's song, Butterfly, that flowed through the speakers of my mind, whispering to me that she was my butterfly. She was my butterfly because she is everything that I want but didn't know how to put into words. She was the embodiment of my soul's longings. I didn't even know what she looked like or would be like until, couldn't even fathom it, until I met her. Then I sighed with recognition.

But sometimes souls make mistakes. I know that now.

So, as of today, Post-Valentine's-Day, I'm vowing to myself that this mess is over. I'm grateful for the lessons I've learned. I'm appreciative of the friendships I've gained. I'm sad for the doubt and mistrust that's beginning to cloud my eyes again and I'm hopeful that maybe some lessons are subjective and maybe they can be unlearned the next time around. I’m hopeful that the friendship that was built on the back of this love can survive it’s dismantle and be rebuilt into something beautiful and something healthily platonic. For my own sake, I don’t think I can handle anything other than that, because right now I feel so broken…

So for now, I need some “me” time. I need to learn how not to have to hear her voice throughout my day to make it a good one. I need my “me” time to learn how to appreciate my ideas and my various creative expressions without sharing them with her. I need my “me” time to reevaluate myself and figure out what I do and don’t need at this point in my life. I need my “me” time to love on myself a little more. I need my “me” time to just be free and me.

On... Man Love?

"...But a man love."

Samuel L. Jackson felt the need to use this term to qualify his love for T.I. and Justin Timberlake when announcing their joint performance on the Grammys tonight. You know, make sure us viewers, fans and fellow Hollywood-ites would know that the love he felt for these two was of the burly, masculine persuasion, you know not all sissy and feminine and queer.

So what exactly is "man love"? Does it mean that you give burly chest bangs and intricate handshakes and growls of saluation instead of hugs and kisses or just hellos? Or maybe it means, you know you talk about real manly stuff like, football and ... er, football as opposed to I don't know baking and uh, child rearing (those are feminine topics right)? Perhaps it means that you know, you enjoy fucking as opposed to making love?

Because I'm a woman, am I somehow inhibited from understanding and prohibited from experiencing, "man love"? Is the love between me and my friends different than this grizzly love of which Mr. Jackson speaks? Does man love fall under the category of philia or agape or eros love?

Another question, is the love between gay men "man love"? If not, can gay men experience "man love" with their male friends? Or does this term refer to strictly, platonic love between heterosexual men? Is it that, "Aw man you know I love you!" (insert manly chuckle and perhaps a handshake half hug). Perhaps followed up with a, "You my nigga!" (NOTE: nigga in this sense can be interchanged with dawg, homie, buddy, pal, ace, or any term that affectionately and appropriately describes a favorable male aquaintance).

I'm just trying to get it straight, you know. I don't want to use the wrong term or get it twisted or whatever.

So, inquiring minds want to know, what is this