Have you ever been to an art museum and saw a beautiful statue or painting that was just too perfect? The lines, colors, shapes, vibe etc. seemed to be an extension from God himself. However, nothing seems to be what you remembered. That same statue/painting that seemed so gorgeous before, upon further inspection was not all it was cracked up to be. Those vibrant colors suddenly seem to be faded. The sharp shapes and lines are now dull and broken. That Sistine Chapel was nothing more than a graffitied up corner store wall.

Life is what happens to you when you are busy making other plans…..

I met this goddess back in high school. For me she was Denise Huxtable live and in memorex. Her face, voice, scent, walk, dress, style were like Beethoven for the soul. I loved everything there was about her. Her being was not only a sight to behold, but thoughts of her painted my brain even when her presence was absent. Beauty in motion.

We spent the spring of our teenage years learning the ins and outs of love. I had to be around 14 and she was 13. I can recall letter after letter from her sprayed with whatever scent she had at the time. And in return, I sent her some of my finest poetry. Shit, we were Will and Jada before Will and Jada.

From the first day we met, I felt I was made to love her. But as we all know, all good things must pass away. Lessons have to be learned and hearts have to be broken. It doesn’t matter if it is the First Love, in fact love loves when it is the first love; it helps the heart break more brittle. The goddess was no different. The spring of our romance soon hit the dead of winter and the love I once knew was nothing more than a fleeing memory. Live turned completely memorex and we were no more.

I can’t recall exactly how we broke up. In fact in retrospect it isn’t even important for this story. I’m sure it had something to do with a love turning into an infatuation which drifted to has been. I met more goddesses and I am positive she met more gods. The recess of our love came to an end as the bell rung for us to leave the playground. We both went on and did our thing, but deep inside I kept a corner of my heart filled with her memory. Not in a way the way that a door was open for her return, that year ran it’s course of seasons. But rather in a “I wonder how she is doing?” way. Weeks turned to months, than came years. And my goddess became a distant warm Indian Summer recollection as I moved through the seasons of my life.

One summer day years later I pulled into a spot that I liked to frequent for wings and beer with a few friends. As I sat there eating the 20th wing I caught a glimpse of a familiar face. This face had the look of better days long gone. You know that look people have when life has treated them pretty bad. When fun recess’ games turned into job’s sweat and tears… she had that look. I thought to myself, who is she? Where did I meet her? Was it an old college friend? Did we once work together? Maybe she lived down the street in the old neighborhood? Whatever it was I remembered the younger version of the face. Then our eyes met. And at once the goddess reappeared in my presence. Except now that beautiful brown face looked old and tattered. Her once bright eyes now had a red tint to them. Her hair which once was long and black now had little to no hang time to it. Life happened to her, and it gave a damn about whatever plans she had.

I made my way over to her to exchange a few words. Not sure what the conversation consisted of, but somewhere during that brief catch up she told me how she now had 4 kids and from her looks and ringless finger I assumed she was in it by herself. I didn’t ask, because frankly I didn’t care. My goddess I once loved had returned to me like an Egyptian statue that had been ruined by countless invasions. The work of art was now nothing more than a cheap replica.

Just as quick as the years flew by since we had last saw each other, I pushed away from the table she sat at. I returned to my wings and beer, and she left the bar to return to life as she knew it. I never saw her again after that night. She hasn’t popped up in my Facebook world, and I’m not catching her Tweets. But even though her homecoming queen days are as distant as her golden Born Day, I still remember her. Not as she is now, but as the Beauty she was during the spring of my life.

Sweater under leather, tryna tell her it’s cold game
That don’t mean it won’t change
Seasons