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“It just bothers me that he’s asking for prayers and privacy,” I concluded as we finished our meals. “I’m sorry, no. I need details. I need facts. You can get my prayers, or you can keep your privacy. But I won’t be reaching out to God about the release of your homeboy, who might actually be guilty.” “Yo!” Russ put his fist in front of his mouth to disguise his laughing fit. “What is wrong with you?” “Nothing! But imagine God deciding between my prayer to be a millionaire and my prayer to release the guilty homeboy. And then when I circle back and ask God for a status update on the financial
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I cackled. “No. It wasn’t that deep. I could’ve let it go, but I didn’t want to.” I lifted my shoulders. “I might be fat, but I’ll never be the bigger person.”
I was genuinely loved and respected by my friends and family. I was admired by plenty of strangers. I was adored by plenty of men. But my confidence and self-worth came from within. My realness, my authenticity, and my zest for life created a safe space for me. My home was a place of peace—and very few people were allowed in. My dating relationships were a place of peace—and everyone played their individual roles. My work was a place of peace—and those who violated it were blocked.
I was basically sitting in an invisible chair. He had me hold that position for ninety seconds. I know he was hoping I would break, but I was in the gym five times a week. I had one more minute in me.
“When I say you’re my escape, I mean you’re my freedom.” He cupped my face. “When I say you’re my escape, I mean I can be myself with you.” His mouth hovered over mine. “When I say you’re my escape, I mean that whenever and wherever we’re together, it’s the only place I want to be.”