After nine years of being attached at the hip, Lyric and Prince finally split. Now, on the road to recovery, she learns a new way to view life as Prince is forced to face the music of a song he never wanted to played aloud. Join them as they learn a...
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September 9, 1993 Chanhassen, Minnesota
Barcelona.
My love for Spain has grown over the years. Spain is a dear place to me, a place where I know I can always get a peace of mind. I like to think that if I ever get married, my wife and I will have a house in Spain. I'm able to think there. I'm able to sit still, something Lord and Lucifer know I can't get at home. We did a couple of shows in Spain. All of them were cool. Then, I caught a glimpse of her on the side of the stage. Up on that stage everything really becomes a blur but she always shined ten times brighter than any light in those buildings. I saw her as clear as day. A unique pain came to life as she played with me like a yo-yo.
All of a sudden, Spain had a new meaning in my heart. It was in Spain that we got into an argument about Robin, our first real argument about any plans of us being together. It was in Spain that I sat around, dying inside, relying on the smiles and giggles of Mayte to recover from my biggest heartbreak to date. It was in Spain that she very clearly considered cheating on some nigga she had waiting for her in New York. It was in Spain that I realized she's been using me.
When she wanted me, I was there.
I'd heard Maria wanted to see the show and I was already planning to blow her away, but I had to put my soul on the line when I heard through the grapevine that a freshly single Lyric would be there. She was giving me eyes all night. Every murmur of a rebuttal that left my lips was met with the heartiest of guffaws her powerful lungs could blow. She told me she'd ride with me for the night, accepting my invitation to come back to my room. After she left the gig at the club early, I needed to find her.
Mayte, a Spanish actress named Ramona, and Lyric in my room as I unplugged the phone because Darlene wouldn't stop calling after I told her not to. I had options, some pretty damn good options, but I chose her. She sat in my face ready to kiss me for five hours just to reject me before I took the bait and, yet, I chose her. The sharpest end of the sword is my not knowing why.
My heart ached as my weak pride accepted I wasn't wanted by a woman I thought would always want me. It hurt. Three other choices of women were begging for my attention and I made the conscious decision to sit on that bed and watch a movie with her, silently spending the film's duration thinking about where I'd rather be in that moment... Coming up with absolutely nothing.
All thoughts from that day on have surrounded her. I can't kiss any woman without hearing the whispers of the woman who invented the act. I can't listen to the soulful croons of any woman without my mind hearing her every note in each harmony... And when I force myself into the kind of situations where I need to perform long enough to numb my yearning for her touch, I close my eyes until I can hear her calling out my name. It's the only way I can climax.
