I’m black first.. my sympathies are black, my allegiance is black, my whole objectives are black… I am not interested in being American, because America has never been interested in me.
Eventually you can breathe again. It’s all yours. Every part of you rebuilt. The pain is gone. The hole is mostly filled. Memories have become a story you tell yourself, of a time when life was of a different style.
But there’s always that one song. The one that makes your blood pump fast. You close your eyes. The warmth of a time long gone, be it pleasure or pain, temporarily consumes.
Art is intoxicating.
It is though.