The Loft – Where the Story Might Begin
A journal entry from the edge of awakening
Our love story begins in the loft.
A warm Baltimore night. Old friends. Brewer’s Art Ozzy in hand. 90s punk rock bleeding through a second-generation iPod like a ghost refusing to be forgotten. The kind of night where memory and meaning blend together and time folds in on itself.
“What do you think, man? If she didn’t even acknowledge the flowers… a text is probably the move, right?”
It’s her birthday.
Four and a half years of love, and now silence.
A moment between heartbreak and inertia.
A moment that might have meant nothing — but I see now it meant everything.
Or maybe the story starts later, or earlier — who really knows?
It could have started with a drunken April night, alone in that same loft, shouting into the dark at the God I didn’t yet know I loved:
“Fuck you. Just… fuck off.”
Or maybe it started in Detroit, surrounded by my family on Memorial Day, when something holy and devastating cracked me open and whispered, Let go.
The truth is: I don’t know exactly where the story begins.
But I do know this:
Something was waking me up.
Not just to the end of a relationship, or the ache of growing older —
but to the possibility that life itself is always conspiring to bring us back to love.
Back to ourselves.
Back to the God within.
Why I’m Writing This
This series, Awakening Letters, is a long-overdue return.
It’s been ten years since I first wrote these journal entries — longhand, in a stack of ten black notebooks, tucked away in drawers and bags and boxes. I’ve finally digitized them. And now, with reverence and reflection, I’m sharing them — and myself — here.
Each post will be a page from that year:
The year I lost a version of myself
The year I met the woman who mirrored the Divine
The year I finally heard God clearly enough to say: I remember who I am
This is a love story.
But not just to a woman.
Not just to the past.
This is a love story to You.
To the Divine.
To the part of me that never left — only slept.
I’m so honored you’re here.
—
🌀 Reflection Prompt:
Where might your story of awakening have begun — not the big moments, but the quiet ones?
The overlooked nights? The words you whispered in pain?
Hit reply and share if you feel called.
Or just sit with it.
This space will hold you.