Single life is liberating.
Who is going to accept that I spend the weekends writing on the bedroom wall, topless, screaming songs at the top my lungs, spray painting weird shape things? I call this abstract art but I have… no… clue… what… I’m… doing.
In my singleness, I don’t have to worry if the person I’ve attached myself to really accepts me because me accepting myself is enough for now.
“I’m a strong, independent, black woman.” I’ve actually said these exact words to someone… out loud… more than once. Each time he or she was only trying to offer their help and didn’t need me to make this statement but probably only needed me to say “thank you for carrying this for me.” But whatever, at least they know!
There’s this voice in the back of my head that makes me feel like my world will come crashing down if I hit the big 3-0 and I’m still man-less and childless.
But I feel the need to stay single until I find that unconditional love that I’m looking for… that unconditional love that I give myself.
The “you’re adorable even when you’re tripping over things in the dark” “you giggle too much” “I love you even when you mess up and you don’t make sense” “why on Earth are you so gassy” kind of love.
Singleness fits me… for now. Until I wake up one day and it doesn’t. Then I’ll put the energy towards adoption, artificial insemination, or actually finding a mate. Whichever hits me first… because I’m a strong, independent, black woman. Chronically.