d a y f o u r: eighteen candles

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by thesafesthaven

by thesafesthaven

Eighteen Candles

there was this girl,

to which i met on the birth of my eighteenth

and she smelt of cotton candy and passion.

her hair, so abundant with mountains of volume, resembled cotton

and her skin so rich, as if it were scarlet coffee and milk blending in the hopes of joining as one.

melanin rushing through the creases of her veins, reminding her of where she came from; a little 400 years of slavery was where she came from.

yet even with her past, she could still love.

yes, she loved. and she loved.

and she loved until she could no more

and she realized that it would not return.

i remember when i met this girl on the birth of my eighteenth

and i remained along her side through the night—as if it were forced

and the image of her skin making a contrast in mine, ranging from light to dark; looking so different yet so alike.

she was beautiful, this girl

and she told me of her past and her future and her present

and i knew this girl, before i actually knew her

and i loved this girl, before i realized what love was.

and after the echoes of our laughter through the night, i knew that this girl was cursed.

she was cursed because this girl shared the beauty that was feared by some and hated by many

that was so powerful and so full of soul and history and pain and all that it was.

she was cursed, she warned me, yes, she did. but if she is cursed, as am i. and if we were cursed, so were our children to come.

but that was okay, because love itself was a curse.

-thesafesthaven