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Not even trying, he had become the kind of man who could walk into a room and make the women cry. Because with him, in his presence, they could. There was something blessed in his manner. Women saw him and wanted to weep to tell him that their chest hurt and their knees did too. Strong women and wise saw him and told him things they only told each other." she read this to me, while I sat easily between her parted legs and candle light as her only way to these words. Stroking the edges of my afro-rebel-hairline with her finger tips, and caressing the pages while holding them equally apart to tell me that she was drawn to me