An overly-eager artist being welcomed into the industry is taken on a bumpy ride as she learns life does not have as many sunny days as she thought. Within the process, she comes to learn that her tour guide is a lot more important to her than she e...
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She was walking taller and speaking louder. The twinkle in her eyes is one of a million diamonds beneath rays of sunlight. Just grinning and cheesing, I wouldn't dare to find it in myself to give her any of the bad news I don't have. The world is very clearly Lyric's. I'm cool just living in it for the night. How much her confidence has seemingly grown over time is the kind of sight to make my heart double in size. Last time I saw her, the confusion of the average 23- year-old she isn't still plagued her essence. It's nice to see her floating around, living like the free-spirited butterfly that she should be. She finally looks like she recognizes what the rest of the world sees her as... A star.
"Tell me what I want to hear," Lyric teases, taking a seat in the chair that is pulled out for her. Her smile is her gratitude given to the mystery man that has escorted her to this table. Our folks fill seats but between my tunnel vision and the ninth wonder of the world in front of me, we have the ability to shut the outside world out, making it feel like she and I are the only ones here tonight.
A smirk peeking around the corner of my stare, I tilt my head forward. "You look nice." This is my third time uttering these words tonight but I mean it every time.
"That's not what I wanted you to say," she laughs, adjusting the coat she sets on the back of her chair. Her earrings dangle as her gaze lifts, from the glass of water she's grabbing, to me in the moments of taking a sip. "But the compliments are always appreciated."
I watch her as she moves the glass to accept the menu handed to her. Entertained by the sight of her trying to figure out how she wants her half of the table's utensils to be spaced, I ask, "Well, what you want me say?"
She holds a stoic expression for a few seconds, eyes scanning over the menu before laughing once we reconnect our sights. "I don't know. I thought you'd tell a joke or something," she giggles, shrugging her shoulders. "Thank you, though. I do look like a hell of a time tonight, don't I?"
I'm not interested but I'm no where near blind neither. Lyric's looking like a hell of a night, that's a definite fact you can't argue with. Gay, straight, curious— or whatever else— to bare witness of the woman in front of me and question why any man has his nose up her ass the way her little boyfriend does would be a damn fool.
When I suggested Lyric, me, and Rome pull what we pulled, I drew inspiration directly from she, Aaliyah, and I's unintentional matching on Thanksgiving. When we walked into the living-room and looked around, seeing the three of us looking like we were about to do a set on Soul Train or something, I knew it was a good bit. I didn't know, however, that Lyric switching out her usual bundle of curls for finger-waves would leave me rightfully looking like a second string player. She cut her hair for the style of Mary Sharon and she cut it shorter than that because I suggested she try the style.
