N.B.L (Nothing But Love)

By Faarouq Christian

We used to feel like the city moved faster than we could. Like every corner we turned, someone had already read the chapter we were still writing.

People assume they know the story, they possess a subconscious audacity to project from their preconceptions, past-traumas, ignorance. They misread the patience misread the silence.

Many, many nights sitting alone, R&B music blasting, blunt burning, chills sending waves through the body while dancing to intricate harmony. Transmuting energy.

They always ask “How do you do it? How do you manage to keep your spirits up?” With no idea that In the exact moment they asked that while observing a charming smile that reaches the eye, that inside I’d been crying.

Not from sadness. But from the pain of being present but feeling so absent.

Too slippery to hold. Too deep to swim next to. Although innately confident since a youngin’ every now & then a bird would fly down to my shoulder and say “maybe you’re too much”

Maybe I was. Too much for who? Too much in what way? Depth? Ambition? Or maybe just early, always early.

Always forever.

Being misunderstood became its own rhythm. It forced me to study myself in ways the world never demanded. I learned the weight of my own pulse. I learned how far I could stretch without breaking. How sharp focus could carry me past doubt.

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This year.. something shifted. It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t sudden. It was like the ball finally found its orbit, like space had opened just enough for me to see how high I could go.

Success from over here doesn’t feel like claps. It’s the rush in your chest when you realize you’ve been building, not proving. That the misunderstanding wasn’t a wall. It was wind resistance training you to glide. Suddenly I’m grateful.

Grateful, for the misreads, the judgements, the silent sidelines. Grateful for the nights I danced alone, those nights taught me alchemy. Channeling inner forces from within. To curate. To maximize.

As I ride, back seat, yellow lights and skyscrapers are most prevalent. Something about car sounds and long light streaks amplifies my focus levels. I feel the city beneath me, the stars above me, and the ring around me? Isn’t a crown. Its orbit. Its movement. It’s momentum.

Still here, still learning the arcs of my own trajectory. Still feeling the exhilaration of rising when nobody’s watching. And even if I break down. I’m finding peace in the knowing that I’ll break through. And knowing quietly that.. we ain’t cocky.

We been vindicated.

And still. It’s..

Nothing But Love.

UNTIL WE MEET AGAIN

#ONELANE #STREETLOVE

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This was a carefully considered publication. We decided to allow it to be free just so you’d know it’s real. Live in the flesh. So if you feel inclined, subscribe to join the squad & gain access to the inner circle. It’s up & it’s stuck. Just like a canvas.

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Big World For A Big City Boy premiering next week..

MARCH 15th 7:30 EST ☔️