Love in Harlem

Just as beautiful as ever. My heart swooned. Seeing her took away some of the swelling in my heart. My hair dropped over my face and the rain made it even easier to hide my tears from her. She offered a small smile.

"Hi," she said. I couldn't bring myself to speak at all yet. She tugged her robe closer to her narrow frame. It felt like forever before she opened her mouth to speak again.

"What're you doing out here? You're going to be sick."

I said nothing her facial expression softened.

"Harlem, please. You know I can't talk to you." She pleaded. The hurt in her eyes was noticeable even of the darkness outside. They gleamed in the bright orange street light.

I took a deep breath and pushed my hair back. She looked away momentarily and with a deep sigh she sprinted towards me and wrapped me in a hug. Her resistance had broke in that moment. So did mine. I wrapped my arms around her neck. She was so warm as it felt so nice to have her in my arms again. I had found the peace that I was on the prowl for that night.

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Harlem Ray Jones was born on July 14th, the day her father's best friend had died. This is her life. No one else's. This is her problem-solving. Her thinking. Her love. Read about her attempt at doing what's right by everyone and her struggles with keeping Pride, the only person that seemed to calm the constant battles in her mind.