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There’s something about being in the presence of a gentleman that just has me on my toes and stroking my collar bones. From their strength and masculinity to their compassionate polite mannerisms. Their sharp suits and shape ups, their bearded smiles. Their intellectual conversations mixed with wit and banter. Their elegance and finesse, the scent of their cologne. Their drive and ambition, their work rate and hustle. How they treat their superiors and inferiors. How they treat other brothers, other people within their community, how they treat their family. Their way of protecting you, holding and consoling you and most importantly, their dedication towards their spirituality. You’ll know when you’re in the presence of a gentleman, because you’ll find yourself encouraging the urge to become a better woman.

“She’d left such an imprint on his heart that any woman he entertained subsequently, had to know her in order to understand him.”

To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable.