Let’s make it last but with hurt. No need to explain my feelings to you or more importantly, to
myself. The power of love knocks at my door with a stranger seeking shelter and begging for a
cup of rice as her wrinkle hands shivered from hunger. The power of love was when I cruised to
a gas station and a gentle soul cleaned my windows even though I refused his services.

“I have nothing better to do,” he said. He noticed my basketball clothes, “I play basketball, too.
I’ll steal the ball from you.”
“Are you sure about that? I have a crossover like Allen Iverson.”
“I can steal the ball from him, too.” And we laughed together as I handed him the last two
dollars in my wallet.

The power of love in my childhood buried underneath your skin that conquers and divides. No
outlet to share, no pen to shape my experience, only a memory of what was portrayed as love.
Love comes from a homeless man​ named Craig Miller, who I found dead on the streets of OB on
Christmas Day, a father, like your father, like my father, here, there, and everywhere. The man in
the stands cheering as his daughter made her first basket or his son who made his first tackle.
And so you did.

The love that will be passed on to our children whether we live in a mansion or in a cardboard
box underneath a bridge as we huddle in the rain with a donated blanket. The love from your
best friend during a sleepover as we discussed cute boys and applied lipstick to each other’s face
while drinking milkshakes.

The love we chase to a different city across the world when all we had to do was look in our
backyard. That’s where the love of the hummingbird visits me and flies back into his home
reassuring what I already know. The love that doesn’t come from material possessions, the
money you make, or the title you hold. It’s simple. Just look in the mirror and love will stare
back. Release the emptiness of the bottles thrown at you by your partner or the slap across your
face from your mother. A calendar of events that fade every day until tomorrow is reached.

The love of the umbrella that you sink into the sand you took for granted; the love of your dog’s
last lick to your face; the love of touching a basketball; the love of the baby picture you found of
yourself drinking a can of 7-Up at the family reunion; the love you shared with your cousin when
you both climbed trees and jumped off your uncle’s roof; the love of dancing to salsa music with
your girls tapping the earth with your high heels; the love of sharing an ice cream cone with your
lover as your kids run through the sprinkler; the love you lost but found. The love of losing​ fear
and accepting rejection, but that’s okay because you love yourself, and that’s all that matters.
That’s all you need— your own love.