Sorry For Everything.

The soft glow of candlelight flickered between us, distant sounds of jazz and bar chatter enveloped the room, creating a warm atmosphere of comfort and connection. Troy, my homeboy of four years, leaned back in his amber chair, taking a sip of his Pinot Noir swirling in his wine cup. It had been a while since we caught up. He found work in Los Angeles as a physical therapist, causing him to leave Philly in pursuit of his dreams. We promised we would find time for each other when he visited for the holidays and tonight was that night– the night after Thanksgiving. 

“So”, I say, playfully leaning my head to the side. “Why haven’t you settled down yet, if you keep saying you like this girl?” 

“It’s not that I don’t like her, Kam”, he casually rolls his eyes, fingers dancing around the edge of his cup. “I’m actually in love with her. I just think I have other things I have to get in order first.” 

I looked at him as to give a nigga please look. “Nah, you just scared, bro. That’s all it is.” 

He laughs. I laugh. We laugh together. Our laughter and playfulness always seemed to do the job and break the tension that came with vulnerable conversations. 

“I mean, yeah that’s true. But I also don’t want her to get away while I figure out what I wanna do,” he says, a visible tenseness in his shoulders. He takes another sip of his wine, as if he’s using the liquor to cope with the toxicity of his confession. Uncomfortable with his admittance. As if he’s been seen by me, fully.

I squint my eyes, studying his body language. This was so on brand for me. “So… you’re just gonna string her along? Nigga, she’s probably confused!” 

He looks at me as if he’s shocked that I, a woman, was correct. 

“I was getting to that,” he looks at his cup with a sorrowful look as if the wine had all the answers. “She is. I feel her getting tired of my shit, so I just find little ways to keep her near, toxic as it sounds.”

A wave of annoyance flushes my body.

“That’s the problem with you niggas. Instead of expressing that, y’all leave the emotional burden on women to figure y’all out. And you know we’re overthinkers— next thing you know, we’ve already chalked it up to the fact that you’re uninterested because of the mixed energy. Get over yourselves. Just be honest and open instead of leaving it up in the air. That’s cruel.”

Troy looks visibly uncomfortable. Sighing and shifting in his chair. The silence becomes thick, as I start thinking about my own situation and immediately realize that I wasn’t giving my friend a safe space to be open with me about his struggles with vulnerability. Rather, crucifying him as a woman who has been on the receiving end of that. I quickly caught myself and proceeded to probe deeper.

“Did you tell her you’re in love with her?”, I asked with a softer tone. 

“Nope,” he shrugs. “I know she loves me and strangely enough that kinda pushes me away the more she shows it. Which is weird because I do like her just as much. I guess that’s why I get angry when she does certain shit.”

“Did you tell her you don’t like when she does certain things?” 

“No.” 

“Well, why not?” 

“Here you go, tryna be Dr. Kamory. I don’t wanna talk about all that. That’s too much” 

“So… having healthy discussions about your feelings is ‘doing too much’?”, I say using my fingers as air quotes.

“OKAY. BUSTED,” he laughs. 

“I know what it is,” I proclaim. “You’re not comfortable doing all that with her because in your head, it would give her the upper hand and then things would get too serious, which is what you fear. Love— true love—requires surrendering and letting go of control. And since you have so much control over your life right now, being in love scares you. It threatens your independence.” 

In that moment, it’s like I could almost see his armor dropping. This was a man who I had known for some time now, and I had never seen him naked before. Exposed. Vulnerable. There was a terror in his eyes that filled me with guilt for drawing out this harsh truth. It hurt him. There’s a horrifying look in his eyes— as if he needs to urgently escape.

“You caught me, Dr. Kam,” he uttered, throwing his hands up in mock defeat. “Damn.” 

He rubbed the back of his head, closed his eyes, threw his head back, and let out a deep sigh, rocking himself back and forth. A tear leaving his face. 

“Ahh, baby. I’m sorry,” I hurriedly grabbed a napkin from the table, getting up to wipe the tears off his face. 

Fuck, I thought. Why does your dumb ass always have to be in therapist mode? Can’t you just read the fucking room? So much for keeping up a good vibe.  

Troy gently nudged me away as I continued dabbing his face with the napkin. “I promise it’s okay because I needed to hear that.” 

“You’re an avoidant. I used to be one too, in my past life. Takes one to know one,” I sit back down as some eyes lean towards us, witnessing the emotional moment.

We continue on with the conversation. 

“I don’t like getting all emotional and shit. Then she’ll know I like her for REAL. I’d rather her keep doing shit I don’t like until it turns me off. That way I’ll have a reason to just leave. I don’t like explaining why shit bothers me.”

“Yeah, because then you’re no longer in control. It requires another level of emotional intimacy that you ain’t ready for yet. But if you keep doing that, you’re gonna keep getting surface level connections. Learn from me.” 

I sigh. Thinking about the current situation I’m in. 

“What’s been going on with you and Enigma Bae?,” Troy asks. “You ain’t give me no more updates on my fellow brother.” He points to his Kappa Alpha Psi logo on his varsity jacket. 

That was the name I had given him. Enigma Bae. 

“I can’t always tell if he wants me, honestly. I don’t know. I overthink. It’s been this push and pull dynamic amongst one another for like what… a year? Normally I’d get tired of the shit, but it’s something about him that feels… familiar. Like he’s going to be in my life forever for some reason. I don’t know. I feel like we’re the same person, but we present very differently if that makes sense? I can’t understand this pull he has on me,” I confess. “And what angers me is that I don’t even move like this when it comes to niggas. I can’t make logical sense of this shit. But it ain’t ever been no toxic shit. Just mutual love and respect.”

“Sounds like you’re on a twin flame journey, my friend,” Troy utters. 

I raise my eyebrow. “A what now?”

“A twin flame journey”, he continues. “It’s an ancient old concept where you two were the same person in a past life, just cut into two different bodies. When y’all meet each other, there’s like an intense chemistry and this feeling of familiarity. It’ll continue to be a push and pull dynamic until y’all both get y’all shit together. These separation periods are meant for self-love and personal development. Both people trigger what needs to be worked on in the other. Sometimes, without trying to. Once the work is done, the universe brings y’all together. Y’all are mirrors of each other but different in other ways as well. People usually have the concept of twin flames fucked up. It’s not about toxicity. It’s about leveling up and promoting self love and introspection in each other through each push and pull”, he says. 

My stomach drops. 

“Hmm… crazy,” I mused, remembering the strange familiarity I had felt with him. “I’ve always thought he mirrored me and I lowkey feel that he feels that as well. That’s what scared me, honestly. I felt like I knew him before we even met. It terrified me.”

“Pull up y’all birth charts. Let’s see what the stars say, Miss Flower Power,” Troy suggested. 

I immediately open an app on my phone– The Pattern, where we run a synastry chart. And just like that, it implies notions of an extraordinary bond that feels almost “destined” and “fated.” A “karmic link connection,” where we are “made of the same stuff.”

“Ughh Troy. Do not feed my delusions. You shouldn’t have had me do this”, I say. 

“I mean, ain’t you a spiritual girly?,” he playfully teased. “Is this not your vibe?”  

“I am. But like… I’m tryna get over this man. He terrifies me. One minute I’m running, it seems like the next he is.”

Troy is laughing at me freaking out by this time. 

“Y’all really do give off twin flames though based on what I’ve heard this past year from you. Does he learn things about himself when y’all not in contact? Do you know?” 

“I know once I got off social media, I noticed he got off too. When we reconnected he told me he was working on being more patient and present with his loved ones.” 

“See? Confirmation,” he replies with a smug grin. 

“Let’s not be delusional here, Troy,” I roll my eyes, asking the waitress for more wine. 

“Why does it have to be delusional though?,” he chimes in. “Don’t you pride yourself on being an outlaw? Being unconventional? I think you’re scared because it challenges logic. It challenges what you’ve curated in your head about love and everything you THINK you know about it…I’ll bet money on it, y’all gon reconnect on some three years later type shit when y’all more mature, stable, and emotionally in tune. I don’t think y’all meant to be right now. You’re not a conventional woman so what would make you think you’ll have a conventional love story? You’ve got a Tia Williams level plot unfolding.” 

When he said this, it triggered something in me. “Did you just say Tia Williams?” 

“Yeah, so?”

“Nothing. Just… I don’t know, it’s weird and strange to me. This twin flame thing, you know,” I said hiding my smile while inwardly reflecting on our conversation. The truth was, maybe my love story wasn’t meant to fit neatly inside a box. I mean, shit… I wrote about that shit so much in my writing, that unbeknownst to me, I had been crafting my own love story this entire time–possibly. A love full of unpredictability, tethered energy, connection, transformation, and connection. Maybe I wasn’t meant for a cookie cutter love story. Maybe it was supposed to show up in a cosmic, unconventional way. 

Bouncing my leg up and down, my mind started racing. Troy should’ve never mentioned this to me. He knows I have an over imaginative mind, already. 

“You’re not meant for a typical love story, Kam,” he chimes in once again. “You love very fiercely and unconditionally. You’ve always been a risk taker. Surrender to this. Stop tryna make logical sense of it. Maybe you’re meant to find clarity and growth in chaos.”

“But why does it have to be so damn hard though? Why so complicated? I want a soft love.”

“And that… you’ll get. Just surrender right now. It’ll all make sense in due time.”

Troy gets up, stretches, and softly says to me, “Don’t fight it, mi amor,” disappearing into the bar bathroom. 

That’s when I open my eyes to reality. Panting, sweating, anxious. Jazmine Sullivan’s Let It Burn is playing in the background on my 40 inch TV. 

“You feel that fire? Just let it burn. There’s no runnin’ when it’s your turn. Call me crazy, but I think I found the love of my life,” she sings in the distance. 

I’m going manic, I think to myself. There’s no way.