Love
“Some connections aren’t loud—they linger.”
Maine Black
To my childhood friend—
I’ma write you into the story
with the glory you deserved.
“Some names live because we keep saying them.”
To my childhood friend—
I’ma write you into the story
with the glory you deserved.
They all saw you different.
You knew my body
like a nerve.
One wheel
coming around the curb.
Full vertical angle—
that’s how I’m gonna
have them seeing you.
My buddy first.
Nigga who told me
he loved me—no homo.
Time wasting,
listening to Hussein, Fatal.
All I remember
is cold nights.
We was out there
still taking—
no mask, no gloves,
just spark plugs and razors.
Jackwright Brothers.
“Maine they got caught sleeping”
And your voice would say,
they got “Jacked right. nigga”
Crooked smile.
You’re in my heart dear pal
In due time, my friend,
they’ll see you
shine again.
Circa 1997
I mistook that feeling for you.
But it wasn’t you I carried forward.
It was the awakening.
“Some people don’t stay. They set the standard and disappear.”
I met you before I knew what love was,
before I knew what it could cost
or what it could give back.
I was a boy still borrowing confidence,
still learning how to stand inside myself.
And you—
you didn’t save me.
You didn’t promise anything.
You just saw me.
That night wasn’t long,
but it was loud inside me.
You walked with me
like I mattered.
Like I could be chosen
without auditioning.
I confused that feeling for you.
But it wasn’t you I’ve been carrying.
It was the awakening.
You were the first sentence.
Not the story.
I don’t chase your face anymore—
it changes because it isn’t meant to stay.
What stays is what you activated:
my attention,
my tenderness,
my ability to feel without armor.
I lied about my age because I didn’t want the moment to end.
That’s how I know it wasn’t meant to last.
Anything true doesn’t need disguise.
You were never supposed to be found again.
You were supposed to be remembered once
and understood later.
And now I understand.
Thank you for walking with me
before I knew how to walk alone.
Thank you for teaching me
that love doesn’t have to hurt to be real.
I release you
without resentment,
without longing,
without regret.
You were not the destination.
You were the proof
that I could begin.
A Message to Women
This isn’t advice.
It’s acknowledgment.
For the weight you carry without asking to be seen.
For the tenderness you protect like a second language.
For the way you keep moving, even when stillness would be easier.
This message isn’t here to fix you.
It’s here to recognize you.
You don’t owe the world resilience.
You don’t owe beauty an explanation.
You don’t owe anyone access to your becoming.
This is simply a letter—
written with care,
received without obligation.
A message to women,
for everything you’ve already survived
and everything you’re still choosing.
A Message to Women by Reyna Biddy
Daydream Audio
Nathalie
A quiet thank-you to someone who showed up with consistency, grace, and care
—before it was understood, before it was returned.
“Some people love you without ever asking to be chosen.”
For many years.
I’ve had a friend named Nathalie.
I liked her.
She knew I liked her.
When I met another girl,
she got jealous—
but never cruel.
She hugged me every day.
Every single day.
She’d say,
don’t pick me
like she was already protecting herself
from the future.
When I got locked up,
she wrote me.
I still have that letter.
That’s not nostalgia—
that’s proof.
I never forgot
I just didn’t know how to say
thank you back then.
So this is me saying it now.
I see you.
I remember you.
I appreciate you.
Some love doesn’t ask for anything.
It just stays kind.