I got the inspiration to write about a Black woman “living her best life,” and still wanting more. More love. More fellowship. More out of life. She visits her grandmother’s old home in Sag Harbor, and somewhere between the porch steps and the sea breeze, she finds herself falling in love with two people at once: herself… and a man. There’s no mess. No “it’s complicated.” Just love. Encouragement. Consistency. Because I get it…sex sells. Drama. Racism. All the trigger words that so often shape the narratives we’re handed. Even Black love sometimes gets used more as a headline than a lived truth. But I wanted to write something different. A love so deep, it becomes a kind of shield against the weight of the world. We don’t need more of what’s already out there. We need more love, without the hurt. And I know nothing’s perfect. But I believe there are flowers for those who keep their eyes open. I believe in abstract love. The kind that only makes sense to the artists, the dreamers, the people who feel too much and still believe in something softer. God gives us assignments that don’t have to make sense to anyone else. Sometimes, I think love is one of them. There’s a sacredness to love I’ve taken for granted. I let fear and ego take the wheel more times than I want to admit, but need to. This story? This is what it looks like when healed people love. When love doesn’t break us—it builds us. No drama. No betrayal. Just two people choosing each other. I’m so excited to share what I’ve been working on… The Way She Blooms