In the distance, She saw a boy.

He was tall and long and beautiful.

 

He wore a crown of eight cornrows,

a white tank,

frayed jeans,

no shoes,

and

a Gucci belt.

 

She saw him clearly, yet he was far away.

 

The boy used to cry a lot,

but then someone taught him that

a little bit of his color came off with the water,

tiny black tears,

and so he stopped.

 

But the boy was beautiful anyways.

He always had black water dripping off him,

from his curls and eyelashes,

from his thighs and jaw.

 

He always hugged his momma just a little too tight,

nodded at his father just a little too confidently,

and smiled at girls with just a little too much charm.

 

And around him was a fuzzy aura

that most couldn’t see.

But She did.

 

Which is why She called out to him.

She couldn’t help it.

It was red and pulsing.

 

He whipped his head up

and looked around.

 

When his wide eyes landed on Her,

they softened, becoming doey,

like a young fawn prince.

 

Then, he took a step towards Her,

hand reaching up to run over his braids.

 

And tripped,

metaphorical J’s creasing.

 

Yet, even from a distance,

She caught him with the wind.

 

And when he looked up at Her,

he had the audacity to look afraid.