All of my “let’s just be friends” still have my heart. At least, the ones I truly gave it to do.

I’ll always love those women. Some of them have once loved me. Some of them still might love me back. It doesn’t just go out the window like that.

Yes, I sometimes hold onto the past.

To the women who meant something.

The ones that still mean the world.

The ones that changed me.

Brought out the good side.

Made a choice by giving them total access to this overly-ready-to-love heart that I usually only share portions of. These particular women had it 100%.

Still do.

Always will.

Like Lynn.

Every time she called on the verge of tears because her bull-headed boyfriend was cheating or making ignorant/sexist/racist/homophobic comments I answered.

Listened.

Met her for innocent coffee.

We don’t even hug these days, knowing that once any sense of physical contact is initiated a spark ignites a cycle between us that’s being put off for a few more years, when we’re ready to go out in a blazing glory.

Or Kathy.

She could reclaim it.

She was something else, man.

Really captured me during a time that it was oh so necessary to be captured and given a chance to feel the presence of family and the love it brings.

Showed me the possible parent within myself.

Her son stole my heart in a way that I’m sure only a mother can feel.

He’s got it over any woman. His mother, however, is a runner-up.

Wanted that family with them then and I still want it now.

If there’s some future family, with someone else’s kid, on some other block to play house on, that I step into some day, I can only hope it’s as full of love, unique creative energy and inspiring motivation as that one was.

It was like raising and dating a Drake album.

I took care.

Hopefully she thanks me later.

Before she read this and it’s too late.

Cheesy?

I love cheesy.

And Drake.

And some women, forever.