Whoever you are, where ever you are, Iâm starting to think weâre a lot alike. Human beings spinning on blackness. All wanting to be seen, touched, heard, paidÂ attentionÂ to. My loved ones are everything to me here. In the last year or three, Iâve screamed at my creator, screamed at clouds in the sky for some explanation. Mercy maybe. For peace of mind to rain like Manna somehow.
Four summers ago, I met somebody. I was 19 years old; he was too. We spent that summer, and the summer after, together. Everyday almost. And on the days we were together, time would glide. Most of the day Iâd see him and his smile. Iâd hear his conversation and his silence until it was time to sleep. Sleep I would often share with him. By the time I realized I was in love, it was malignant. It was hopeless. It was no escaping, no negotiating with the feelings. No choice. It was my first love. It changed my life.
Back then, my mind would wander to the women I had been with, the ones I cared for and thought I was in love with. I reminisced about the sentimental songs I enjoyed when I was a teenager. The ones I played when I experienced a girlfriend for the first time. I realized they were written in a language I did not yet speak. I realized too much too quickly. Imagine being thrown from a plane. I wasnât in a plane though. I was in aÂ Nissan Maxima, the same car I packed up with bags and drove to Los Angeles in.
I sat there and told my friend how I felt. I wept as the words left my mouth. I grieved for them, knowing I could never take them back for myself. He patted my back. He said kind things. He did his best. But he wouldnât admit the same.
He had to go back inside soon. It was late and his girlfriend was waiting for him upstairs. He wouldnât tell me the truth about his feelings for me for another three years. I felt like I only imagined reciprocity for years. Now imagine being thrown from a cliff. No, I wasnât on a cliff. I was still in my car telling myself it was gonna be fine and to take deep breaths. I took the breaths and carried on. I kept up a peculiar friendship with him because I couldnât imagine keeping up my life without him. I struggled to master myself and my emotions. I wasnât always successful.
The dance went onâ¦I kept the rhythm for several summers after. Itâs winter now. Iâm typing this on a plane back to Los Angeles from New Orleans. I flew home for another marred Christmas. I have a window seat. Itâs December 27th, 2011. By now Iâve written two albums. This being the second. I wrote to keep myself busy and sane. I wanted to created worlds that were rosier than mine. I tried toÂ channelÂ overwhelming emotions. Iâm surprised at how far all of it has taken me.
Before writing this, I told some people my story. Iâm sure these people kept me alive, kept me safeâ¦sincerely, these are the folks I want to thank from the floor of my heart. Everyone of you knows who you areâ¦.
Great humans, probably angels. I donât know what happens now, and thatâs alright.
I donât have any secrets I need kept anymore. Thereâs probably some small shit still, but you know what I mean. I was never alone, as much as I felt like it. As much as I still do sometimes. I never was. I donât think I ever could be. Thanks.
To my first love, Iâm grateful for you. Grateful that even though it wasnât what I hoped for and even though it was never enough, it was. Some things never areâ¦and we were. I wonât forget you. I wonât forget the summer. Iâll remember who I was when I met you. Iâll remember who you were and how weâve both changed and stayed the same. Iâve never had more respect for life and living than I have right now.
Maybe it takes a near death experience to feel alive. Thanks.
To my mother, you raised me strong. I know Iâm only brave because you were first, so thank you! All of you, for everything good. I feel like a free man. If I listen closely, I can hear the sky falling too.
THIS IS HOW I FEEL RIGHT NOW!!
And I would to donate a FUCK YOU to all the haters, who stop fucking with Frank Ocean. He don’t need them anyway! Get your shine F.O.!