lost

The 90’s was a wild time. An era of nasty suits and sequin and existentialism. yeah I  said it existentialism. yet buried under the myriad of synthesizers and corny lyricism, Haddaway rattled our mind with questions like what is “love” and as I mentally pause the beat pulsing in my head, I come back to earth and realize the answer is you; that’s why I can’t speak. and as I dig for words as we are pressed together on the 6 train uptown, you’re eyes speak multitudes. telling me everything is going to be okay, I do see your potential and yes you need a line-up. With these revelations spewing out of your eyes im overtaken by the moment. In my stupor I blurt out “ what up How you doin’ my name is Fabrice what is your name where are you coming from it’s hot huh? Incoherent babble. But only if I could climb that tower and shout out to the world that I may have found what every man truly seeks. They say they want a “dime piece” the baddest chick in the room. That’s just the surface;I ain’t mad at that. Deep down, every man just wants a real woman not girl. Boys want the “ baddest chick”. They can have them, for what I have seen today…….. is nuts. My lack of words is borne out of the magnitude of your presence. A vacuum removing all thought, pathetic pick-up lines , swag and leaving just a look and a smile. Signs of inquisitive thought and interest. Speaking with out speaking. Our little microcosm is broken up my the door opening.

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About Literarydimes

This blog is a reflection of me. My random thoughts and current happenings. Enjoy. Engage. React.
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