…nd about me, yet. A chasm in our connection. There are aches I don’t know how to translate for him. It is a Black woman’s kind of aching. It is complex and simple. So much of the world sees Black women and girls as servants, as a means to an end, accessories for completion. Even our lovers, even our mothers and grandmothers, even us. By being born with the privilege of not experiencing this pain — at the expense of women like me — my husband is complicit.
This is so powerful. And so beautifully, beautifully written.