I remember
walking through the city
on a fro
in a cafe
i meet a friend with eyes that are brown and honest.
we talk about death ~ not the sombre death, but the sacred death.
how losing others can gives you the fiery passion for life in your belly.
how our brother and our mother died. how it left us and how it made us.
and we laugh and we write stories with our words.
and we walk along:
back through the city. through the laughter and the words and the blessings and the loves and the honeysuckles.
friendships are angels on our back, saying:
i love you anyway.
you are good.
you are loved.
i see you.
that’s all there is to know.
love,
p.s.
incase you need reminding:
i love you anyway.
you are good.
you are loved.
i see you.