Marco Hoilett

It is delightful. It is electricity in the eyes, cuddling late at night, the off-the-cuff remarks fueling laughter for a lifetime. It is holding hands under stars. It is PDA in someone else’s front yard.

Mr. President, you are waging war on American democracy.

Control isn’t love, folks. It’s control. 

There are many who will claim that the dilemma of police brutality is a political or judicial issue. It’s not. It’s bigger than any president or judge. This is a systematic prejudicial issue.

As you looked into his eyes, you no longer saw the future that you saw on the night you first met—vacations, holidays, laughs, kisses, togetherness, and forever. Instead, you saw nothingness. 

I am able to trust when I feel safe. Safe enough to be me.

Maybe it began when I realized how much you inspired me to be smarter, see things from more perspectives, and to simply be better. 

I was neither ready nor prepared to be one half of a we no matter how right it felt. 

What am I to you? I ask because, although I have an old school romantic spirit, I live in a new school keep-it-casual culture and need to discover your truest intentions before deploying my heart.

“I miss you.”

Thanks for making me stronger. Wiser. And a little more selfish.

Yet here we are–you running towards me, me walking towards you.

“Yes, this was always me.”