Chasing men = going after who you want
Love isn't traditional at all. Neither you nor I could travel in time and find it. We can't grab it and claim it ours. It must be created in our eyes - in the mind, body and soul. My kind of love doesn't reflect a place where the home is furnished with the hands of a woman and the beard of a man, who comes in and settles ever down for bread and meat. It isn't built on two children (one of each gender) and a baby dog named Flip. I don't know of the place where my home will resemble in time, but I do know this. It won't be built out of greed and vanity. So this is a hard pill to swallow for me. Throughout this journey, I thought I would be chased by a man. I thought I would be fondled and caressed every second. How would I have known that it would be about missed trips, unspoken words, the dial tone, the answering machine, the good morning/night text messages, the 'I spy' saga, the love poems that were never sent. The most baffling part of it is that I slightly enjoy the chase. I don't mind the chasing. I do mind the places where I travel alone, where I leave with confusion and wander. My kind of love might resemble a place where the home is furnished with the hands of the man, and the women is getting served with bread and sweets. It might resemble quiet nights and those bursts of laughter whenever I decide to become a woman. There is no longer a man around who could "man up." Those days are casket(ed) away. It is time for me to ask for the dates. It's time to pay for my own lunches when you are miles away and unable to lay out food on the table. When you hold the door open, I will stop midway and wait for you to swoon me. It's time to begin to cook on occasion. It is time to stop dreaming about you. You won't chase me, you won't seek chasing. It's time to go after all the men who don't want to be chased.
"Chase you? I don't even chase my liquor." - Famous black girl line
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