Some mornings the murmurings of her voice cajoles me out of my sleep. Some mornings it jolts me out of my sleep. Some mornings her syncopation consoles me back into sleep.
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His quiet confident cool draws my mothers gaze from across the room. Reggae music sizzles out of the stereo in a way that makes your hips sway, gyrate, and dip.
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After the excitement and love of the post-film photoshoot subsided, I left the film saddened that the streets of Brooklyn weren’t the streets of Wakanda...
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