The Love That Never Was

Did you mute the RJM Lounge Player first?

Until this day, I can’t forget her.

I’ve replayed the day I met her

countless times over the years.

And still, whenever I hear

Keith Sweat sing, “I Want Her,”

I see her face in my mind’s eye.

That was our song,

but I was not her guy.

I was hooked by her girl next door looks,

her modest style,

her Cleopatra eye make-up,

but her infectious smile at me

when I said, “You have the prettiest eyes,”

tied a brotha up in knots inside.

Damn butterflies –

I had birds inside my belly.

Turned a brotha into jelly

with her “thank you.”

Sometime later, wasn’t shit that you could tell me

‘cause she hit me with the same compliment

and I was done,

but somehow I could not make myself the “one.”

After work she’d wait on me to take her home.

Throughout the summer, spent mad hours on the phone.

Religiously on Saturdays we made our calls

until she went away to college in the fall.

It was over before it started,

and my countenance fell.

My lack of access to her

became my living hell.

Eventually I got a grip

and I moved on.

Played my games with silly chicks

who did me wrong.

Did my dirt too and had my fun,

even fell in love with one

‘til finally all thoughts of Girl-next-door were gone.

But then I’m walking through my campus

unaware that she had transferred that semester.

When I saw her, called her name out and she answered,

and hearing her voice again was confirmation that God is real.

Did all I could to stay cool,

but I just could not conceal how glad I was to see this girl again.

Wondering if this was now my second chance.

So finally, I ask her out 4th of July.

Promised views of fireworks from 74 floors high

over Manhattan. It would have to be an awesome sight to see;

and she had options — many of them — yet she chose to come with me.

But I didn’t appreciate it. 

My Plans fell through; I got frustrated.

Self-destructed in front of her, and transformed into an ass.

I made the evening a disaster. Even worse, in its aftermath

I told her things I should not have said;

mean-spirited shit to burn that bridge,

and severed ties to her as if she lacked the capacity to forgive

a brotha for poor planning.

That revelation was damning,

‘cause it suggested she had a deficit in compassion and understanding.

And what did that assumption on my part say about me

when clearly she had options, but chose to spend her time with me?

Now years have passed. We’ve lived our lives.

I think she’s married .I have a bride

who I love with every fiber of my being.

Yet and still, I can’t forget her.

I still replay the day I met her,

although I have my doubts she ever does.

Still she appears in my mind’s eye

infectious smile, Cleopatra’s eyes

is how I’ll always remember the love that never was.

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