“I think that’s what the Heaux Phase really is. Not being reckless… but being real.It’s permission to live without shame. To laugh loud. To love hard. To let life touch you again after it broke you. To remember that softness is not weakness, and pleasure isn’t bad.”
Then I looked at the roses again. A reminder that love can show up in a million forms. Sometimes through a man, sometimes through a city,sometimes through your damn self.
I picked one up, held it to my nose, and whispered to my reflection,
“This year… I’m not just healing. I’m living.”
Valentine’s Day hits different when your heart is soft and open.
That New Orleans sun was golden, not too hot, just glowing enough to kiss my skin through my dress. I didn’t know what to expect from Maison after the flowers and edible arrangement, but I should’ve known he’d take it to the next level.
“I’ve never been on no damn gondola,” I laughed, holding his hand as we walked toward the little dock on the Bayou.
“Well, there’s a first time for everything,” he smirked, helping me step in. “And since I’m your Valentine, I figured I’d take you on some peaceful shit before you end up somewhere twerking later.”
The water glistened beneath us, the gondolier guiding us slowly while soft jazz played in the background. Trees bowed gently in the breeze, like they knew they were witnessing something special. The whole thing looked like it belonged in a movie. It was the kind of scene you pause and rewind just to feel it twice.
Maison looked so damn good. Beard groomed. That brown skin soaking up sunlight, and I couldn’t help but stare.
“You good?”
“Yeah…” I smiled, blushing. “Just admiring my Valentine. I ain’t never had one that looked this good.”
He laughed and kissed my hand. “I ain’t never had one that felt this good.”
We floated for a while, laughing and talking. Just enjoying the moment, the view, the breeze. It was the kind of calm you crave when you didn’t know your soul was tired. And then… something in the water caught my eye.
A glass bottle.
“What is that?” I asked, pointing.
The gondolier steered us closer, and I reached out to grab it. Inside was a piece of folded paper tied with a ribbon.
I looked at Maison. He didn’t say a word.
I unrolled it slowly, my heart doing that thing it does when it knows something is coming. The note was handwritten. His handwriting.
It read:
Lyrix,
I know you didn’t come out here looking for love.
But maybe… you were looking for something even better.
Freedom. Peace.
I just want you to know that I see you.
Not the curated version. Not the Instagram-worthy one.
The real you.
You keep saying you’re healing, but what I see is a woman who’s already whole. You’re just learning how to celebrate that.
A woman who turned her pain into power and her silence into strength.
Stop thinking you have to follow somebody else’s rules for your healing or your happiness. Make your own. Break them. Rewrite them.
