You Don't Know My Name

"When did you know that you loved me"? I asked him. Looking deep into his dreamy brown eyes brushing my fingers against his caramel skin. We sat on the carpet by the furnace in our newly furnished Brooklyn brownstone, surrounded by the aroma of mahogany-scented candles that filled the air. At the same time, the small flickers of the fire reflected on his skin, making it shine like diamonds. It was a quarter past 12, and the bright orange moonlight glow seeped into our living room through the patio, turning our sapphire walls into a somewhat starry night. Sage glanced at me in complete awe and clasped his hands into mine. A look of joy took over his face that was somewhat child-like, like this was the question he had been looking forward to for as long as we've been together.

My inability to feel comfortable around the opposite sex all came down to an issue of self. Past encounters I've had with men in careers, who live rather than exist, have made me feel inadequate. I was picking myself apart, trying to get rid of the things that seemed unlovable, spending extra minutes in the bathroom analyzing my body, fixing my hair, experimenting with makeup, while pointing out my imperfections, and wearing myself thin trying to prove that I was more than a dreamer with a dead end job, that I had something to show for it. I was becoming someone I didn't recognize. I was living in a shell. I realized that I wasn't capable of loving any man until I loved myself. My only option was to alienate them by making no calls, no texts, and fully erasing them from my memory, hoping they would do the same, and they would find someone who could give them what I couldn't. It took years for me to become the woman I am today, through years of prayer, self-discipline, determination, and admitting.

Admitting that, although I was scared of love, I never wanted anything more. Constantly dreaming about the day when I'm standing across the man that I adore dressed in white, looking him in the eyes, with my hands in his, and giving him a million reasons why I'd choose him in this life and the next. My tough exterior was a facade that consumed me. I realized wanting love didn't make me weak; it made me human. It was an epiphany, and Sage Alexander Moore was the perfect addition. From his charismatic charm, caring spirit, and undeniable presence, his voice was low-pitched, booming with masculinity, and his choice of words was soft as a melody. He was the epitome of tranquility, and his small doses of reassurance would soothe me to sleep. Some days it felt too good to be true. What was it about me that was worthy of his time and affection?.

What made me so special?. When did the closest thing to magic come to be? .Sage's bronze eyes were still latched onto mine, his fingers still interlocked with mine; his spine was propped up as he was fully facing me, almost as if a painting had come to life. He slowly parted his lips and began to speak. "Do you remember that afternoon we spent at Sunset Park?, It was the middle of June, and the temperature was about 84 degrees. You were wearing a blue sundress that hugged you tightly and softly. Your raven hair curls were wavy, reaching your shoulders, and it seemed like the sun was bouncing off your skin. I've never seen anything more beautiful. We had a picnic, and after 3 glasses of Moscato, we were running around like children with the earth beneath our feet. We poured into each other and learned so much, our favorite songs, indie films, comfort food, family dynamics, along with our fears, hopes, and dreams." He smiled. "You told me about your recent obsession with Paramore, and you had just discovered this band called the Smiths, reigniting your love for retro music, how you would come up with music videos and fake scenarios while getting lost in the sound. As the day was coming to an end, we sat on the bench watching the sunset, and you slowly started to fall asleep with your head on my shoulder. When I moved closer in and felt your body slowly pulsing against mine, it was like the world was still, and time had slowed down. I was the happiest I've ever been because I knew you were safe with me, at ease, nothing else mattered, Lela. After all, I felt the same way. That's when I knew, I became your home baby, and you became mine. I hope that didn't sound cliché," he asked. I gently grasped his face and kissed his forehead. "Not even a little", I responded.

I couldn't believe what I heard; tears were streaming down my face. I felt as if God was smiling down on me. I had a man that paid attention; who knew I was safe before I even realized. His words made me feel like I was everything to him as he was to me. I remember that day as if there were no other. His dark denim blue jacket, which he had placed around my shoulders on that bench. His white T-shirt, which accentuated his muscles, his green cargo pants, and his black -and -white Jordans. His locs, blooming from his scalp, looked like wildflowers. I remember the conversations, the funny ones, the real ones, the deep ones. I remember telling him about the fake scenarios I would have with the Smiths, and he would laugh. I said my favorite film was The Words by Brian Klugman because of the historical romance, and his favorite movie was Jumanji because he loved adventure. I remember the carefree child in me starting to resurrect while running in the park. But who would have thought that something so simple as a headrest would be the pivotal moment that led us here one year later? All I ever wanted in a relationship was comfort, and he was all of that, and so much more.

It was now 2 am, and we had traced our lips on each other's faces. Sage got up and made his way towards the stereo, and turned on Natalie Cole's' Unforgettable as it echoed through the entire apartment. I smiled at him, and he did the same. He grabbed my hand, and we slow danced, our bodies were in sync. No words were spoken; everything was perfect. Before we knew it, we got lost in the sheets, melting into one another, passionate kissing, endless touching, breathing each other's names, we were one, ending the night in a warm embrace.

...

The morning snuck up on me the next day. The room was small, with pale walls, a color I've seen too many times before. The bed was near the ground, and the air was frigid, causing goosebumps to rise across my skin. And the only hands keeping me warm were mine. It was past 7 am. I jumped out of bed, realizing I was running late for work. I rushed to the bathroom, brushed my teeth, washed my face, and rushed back into my bedroom to put on my everyday outfit: black cargo pants, a black hoodie, black sneakers, and a camouflage jacket on top. I took one glance at the mirror before I left and then made my way to the train station. I walked by groups of children loading the school bus, parents kissing them goodbye, and the sound of storefront gates being pushed in front of convenience stores.

In those 10 minutes of walking to the train, The Night We Met by Lord Huron rang through my ears repeatedly, and the imagery of me dancing somberly played in my mind. As I waited on the platform, my peripheral vision caught sight of someone familiar. I turned my head, and all of a sudden, the music stopped. There he was, Sage Alexander Moore. I would see him every morning, mostly on weekdays, in his usual business attire. Today, he wore a white button-down shirt, paired with a blue cashmere sweater over black pants, black shoes, and a beige trench coat. It had been a few months since I last saw him; of course, a man of that caliber would probably have a hectic schedule. He was a small business owner of a children's charity down in Queens.

"Change and Connect" was the name; its primary duty was essentially giving back to the community, such as food, clothing, and housing, especially during the holiday season. He had over 100,000 followers on Instagram and 500,000 on TikTok, and I watched his videos endlessly. The way he cared for children made me daydream about us having our own, two boys and two girls. Every morning between 7:30 and 7:40, I'd find myself staring at him, hoping he won't notice it. I'd think to myself, there's no way he'd be interested in a woman who mops floors for a living and has made sweats her signature style compared to his. But my eyes could never look away; he was so enchanting. I've never thought I'd see him again, and there he was, only for my eyes to see. My look of wonder quickly turned into despair as I noticed a bouquet of pink and white lilies in his right hand. There was a smile on his face as a beautiful woman ran into his arms, and he lifted her in full embrace with the flowers still grasped in his hand. He handed her the flowers. She closed her eyes and held them to her nose, smiling blissfully. She had chestnut hair to match her skin, wearing a full face of makeup, a long beige wool coat, and a tight green dress underneath, along with black stockings and long black boots. They shared a kiss, and she kissed his cheek gently. He then grabbed her hand and kissed it, and I was hit with a punch of reality and despondence. Suddenly, ten minutes passed, and the train approached, and I was on my way to work, continuing my draining routine.