She’s the one who I think about when I have nothing to say. The person who comes to mind most in moments of quiet simply because my mind always goes back to that one moment in time. The moment where I was the happiest. The smile on my face when the outside fluorescent light poured down on her exotic beauty wrapped in a navy blue peacoat. The same peacoat I had stashed away of the blackest of colors. The same coat I had hanging on the door just as she stepped in my humble habitat. An elegant angel had left Heaven and brought evidence of eternal happiness into my heart. A happiness that’ll always be there. A smile that is permanent whenever I see Anita Dr. or see the first song from Brisco’s first O.G Kush (4-20 Edition), “Anita.” Yes, simply uttering her name in my heart sends shivers of memories down my spine, remembering hanging up your blue peacoat next to mine and thinking to myself, “A match made in Heaven.”
We sat. We reminisced. We ate. I played her “Good Drugs, Bad Thoughts.” The first line was about her. Her smile was slight, but I felt as though I gave her a dozen roses of white plucked from her native cloud. We sat on the couch and I listened with a broken heart as she talked about her boyfriend. But only my heart was broken. Not my spirit. I wanted her. I wanted Anita. I wanted to know everything about Anita. I’ve let someone drive a wedge between our “we could have beens” before. I refused to let history repeat itself. So I start talking, no reading. Reading the prose embedded in every muscle movement, every smile on her face, my favorite being the dimple that sunk in the left side of her face. I always felt like I was looking at the moon when I was staring into those blackish dark brown eyes that looked as though they were imported in from the land of the Rising Sun.
We began to share secrets I would never leave on paper. Our secrets will forever be ours. No one else’s. Then amidst all of the laughter, the mind melding, her gravitational pull intensified and I was drawn closer to her. The meeting of two worlds. A beautiful collision. Not one that brought about destruction, one that created life and beauty and love. But alas as we stood at the climax of our night together, I asked you a question that I already knew the answer to. One that I should have asked you with a whisper.
My moment to tell you how much I didn’t want you to leave. How bad I yearned for the feel of your pink lips on top of mine, creating our own silent symphonies of the most sinful nature with South Park playing in the background. When I think of the perfect body, the undisputed object of desire, I think of Anita. I imagine that same body in blue jeans and a small pink thermal, those same clothes only serving as obstacles for what I truly desired. The taste of perky light brown nipples. The sensual moans from kisses placed in all of the right places. The taste of her honey river as she wraiths against my tongue, moving as though a beautiful wave washed her away from shore into an ocean called Ecstasy. I can only imagine the feeling of being a part of her, praying inside of her temple would have made me feel as though I knelt next to God’s heartbeat. With every stroke, every movement, my faith in love would be reaffirmed. I would lay with her, toy with her hair ‘til she slumbered, shared my black ‘til she slept. At that moment she would’ve known the deepest of love because I would have shown her the most tender of care.
But instead, I simply smiled and retrieved her blue peacoat away from mine, my peacoat’s heart breaking along with my own. Rationalizing every thought in my head, too prideful to tell her that my heart breaks whenever she has to leave. The same words she wanted to roll off my tongue the entire time. I wanted to tell her that the reason why I’ve been so shy, so distant is because I truly enjoyed every part of her. Everything about her. I’d love her with cancer, I’d cherish her if she had AIDS, I’d worship her if she were Satan’s daughter. I’d tell her that my heart was broken once before, but she was the only one with glue. I’d let her put me back together. I’d only let her truly heal me.
But when I let go of her that last time, I could only say nothing and hold back tears, wishing there were other words I could say to make her appear. This saddens me because after her, after Anita, there was not a single regret I’ve had before her. Everything that happened was simply meant to happen. I was meant to spend July with Brittany and Mami. I was meant to live with Heather and Kiya. I was meant to meet you miss Anita Stone, and the only thing I regret is not telling you that again, you played the part of my muse and my purposeful prose was inspired by you. Anita.
