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HARLEM QUINN
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HARLEM QUINN
I hummed to the beat I was making for somebody. "Ay, this shit hard." "'Preciate," I mumbled, scrolling through Instagram and seeing Malai pop up.
She was in a lil' garden wearing a pink sundress with some white sandals. She had braids with curly ends and was smiling brightly at the camera.
I'm glad she found her peace, for real. I do still love her—I mean, she was my first everything damn near. That shit just don't go away.
She had one of them layouts too, having a picnic by herself. "How much for this shit again?" the dude asked, breaking me outta my thoughts. "1K for the whole beat to be yours." "Shit, aight, and I'ma tip yo ass."
Fuck I look like, a waitress? But whatever, nigga. I felt my phone ping and he sent me 2K. Well shit, I'll be a waiter today. He left my studio and I just sat there.
Man, seeing her brought back some feelings I wasn't ready for. I still think about her all the time. I've been trying to find her, actually—not even on no weird shit. I just wanted to check up on her.
Ion blame her for nothin'. She was going through some shit. Yeah, my feelings were definitely hurt after she got the abortion without telling me, but I understood her.
I mean, she had just lost her mama, and she wasn't financially stable for a kid. Neither was I, but shit—I would've made something outta nothing.
I was mad as fuck in the moment though. I mean, why she ain't tell me? That was my kid too. I just be thinking what I would've done if I was a dad. I feel like I would've been a good ass daddy... I don't know.
Shit, maybe I wouldn't have. But I still want a kid. Shit, I'm twenty-six with no kids, no girlfriend, or nothin'. I tried dating after her—I did—but I don't know. They just didn't feel right. It felt wrong.
And I'm not the type to lead nobody on, so I cut them off. I just wanna spoil somebody. I think I'm a hopeless romantic. Love just sounds so good—I want that.
I be looking at my mom and her husband, low-key jealous sometimes. They still act like they in the honeymoon stage.
I don't think a honeymoon stage is even real though. Like, why it gotta be a time limit on when you stop loving me? Shit weird to me—like you never really loved me in the first place.
My phone rung. I groaned, picking it up. "What?" It was my sister, Nyella. "Damn, no 'hi, hello'? How are you? Let's start over. Hi, my sweet, loving brother."
