“Stay woke, Queen,”
"It’s tragic nobody ever called you by your birthright?”
Her circle bracelets played in his ears like a Tambourine.
"Her areola, with tiny bumps and ripples, told him she adored him in Braille."
She is far from basic with her arched eyebrow, plump, plum-colored lips, and indigo eyes
"Listen, should there ever be another ‘last supper’ or if you end up on death row, you will want your last meal to be Diecca’s.”
STANDING EIGHT
Syn’s life is a fight—not for sport, but for survival. Knocked down by marriage, grief, motherhood, and faith, she battles invisible wars that leave her breathless in grocery aisles and sleepless at 3 a.m.
Then he appears.
A man who doesn’t ask her to be strong. Who listens, stays, and sees her not as broken—but divine. To him, Black women are God. Queens. And that belief begins to unravel everything Syn thought she knew about herself, her worth, and her place in the world. He’s changed her life. But can love survive when it’s built on a truth she’s afraid to claim? Or will he be seasonal—a spark, not a flame.
P.S (Post Script) I had to put that in case some folk don't know what it means. 😏
So basically, her life is a turbulent ass mess but will she turn it roun'?
Or, will she, finish the sentence...
Fuck around and ______ _______!
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