What It is to the Core

It's 1.48 AM and the night is cool. The window's open and the nighttime...it has a voice. And it speaks to me. Its whisper penetrates the window screen and brushes past me; I can feel it.. on my arms, my nape, against my ear.

I am listening to Caetano Veloso singing, moaning out "Cucurrucucu Paloma".

And though I understand not a word, my soul can't help but sigh in direct response to this person's crooning out for a lost love, perhaps, I don't know; like I said, I don't understand the words as they are in Spanish.

... And the flow of my blood sings along.

And instead of crooning for a lost love, it seems to be crooning instead for lost days. When innocence was pure and unwavering and solid as a mother's love for her kid.

My last affair was a loss of innocence for me in itself.

And sometimes I can't help but think about it. In retrospect it seems so distant and far-off. Fuzzy, like paint drying on the walls of my bedroom. It's tough to say it out loud, even though there is that mixture of apathy and acceptance mingled with it: He used me.

And yet I don't know what it is, ego or pride that keeps me from believing in it totally. At least, all day everyday. Because there are those moments that you just know. You are jolted by reality and accept it: He didn't love me. He wanted to use me because I have beauty and youth and brilliance and I am a novelty to him. But he will still marry her. He wanted me because I was like nothing he's ever seen before.

And to think that I thought God was giving me a sign... "Sasha, this it it, and I have used a bulldozer to knock him into your path. But here. Here he is. Take him or leave him."

I didn't know that God wanted me to pick Leave him.

But I know better now. That's why I don't compromise anymore. Especially when it comes to men. I am still finding my voice when it comes to my writing. I feel I used to be better at articulating what I felt before, I sounded a lot smarter a long time ago. When I was younger. Before I had lost so much innocence along the way, getting by what life was throwing at me.

But I want to believe this all serves a purpose. And I do, when I have my bearings around me. When I'm not injected with the crazies.

But yes.

I love.

I was borne of love. I will die for love. I love my people. I love my country. I love my planet. I love my passions. I love my frivolities. I LOVE MY GOD. I love.

Maybe that's all there is to me:

... I love.