sometimes i can’t believe i chose to be a writer or that writing has chosen me. there was a time where i wouldn’t say anything of substance to anyone. i felt like it didn’t matter. too often, words are used to manipulate another person instead of expressing an honest intention or pure thought. i chose to say nothing. women whom i loved, friends that i appreciated, family that supported me rarely heard me express the way i felt. when i was 18 there was a woman that i admired. she was beautiful; her face was perfect with freckles sprinkled throughout and a dazzling smile. her sense of humor was quirky and her taste was sophisticated. one day she told me she liked a sweater i was wearing. so i gave it to her. it was white with gray stripes. i saw her wearing the sweater a few weeks later around campus.

the next year she transferred and took the sweater with her. around that same time, i met another young lady while roaming the halls of a dorm. the friend i was with knew her and introduced us. she was stunning. she was a california dream on the east coast. i asked her to be my valentine. i don’t know if she took me seriously but i was deadass. she saw me wearing a purple hoody with pink sleeves in cafe and asked me for it. without hesitation i said yes. on valentines day, i brought the sweater and a dub of loud for us. we were valentines but nothing more ever materialized. maybe i was naive but i was happy to part with my favorite things.

as time passed, i held on to my things. i was stingy, even with the women that i adored. i didn’t feel the need to make the women in my life happy. i was doing the whole dating thing wrong. i was in that “come smoke” mode where sessions substituted for dates. i was salty. it felt like giving was a one street. i realized one of my biggest phobias is to be taken advantage of. if you’ve ever felt used, you know it feels gross. functionality over humanity. you want what i can do for you instead of wanting me. i don’t think those women that i adored used me but it was the story i told myself.

there was a woman from chicago that was once a crush and grew into much more. she made me believe in love at first sight. after the first time i saw her, i wanted to know everything about her. in my eyes she is forever flawless. i gave her sweatpants, hats, and anything else that she wanted from my closet. but she was different. i wanted to give her more than something that i owned. i bought her some designer shades that i knew she’d kill in. her hair slicked back with her sideburns curled into an “s” pattern. but my heart wasn’t in the right place. i was trying to convince her to give me her love. i should’ve known better.

the last time i gave away clothing was a while ago. it was a t-shirt from rsvp gallery. it wasn’t intentional but after i saw her wearing it, i couldn’t ask for it back. she was beautiful with brown skin and an infectious personality. her figure was perfection and her smile was bright. but that wasn’t why i couldn’t ask for my shirt. i loved her dearly and wanted to give her much more than a shirt. i wanted to wave a magic wand and make all her dreams come true. maybe snap my fingers and remove all her anxiety. a t-shirt was minuscule in comparison.

i don’t give away clothes anymore. i haven’t felt compelled to give any of my favorite things away plus no one has asked me for anything. i used to wonder what happened to those items but now i don’t. it was just clothes. i wish i had given them my words instead. honest intention and pure thoughts would’ve lasted longer.