By Tafi Mhaka

To the gorgeous afro-wearing lady in red: I’m not letting go.

We had a moment there.

My heart flickered.

You blushed.

The moment was simply divine.

Seeing you felt strangely familiar.

Seeing you for the first time felt scripted.

Yet I hadn’t auditioned for this love-struck part.

Now that we have come this far, the show must go on.

What is your name there?

What’s your story, babygirl?

You looked angelic.

I love the delightful red dress with the white stripes.

Do you listen to good soul music?

You are my K-Michelle.

My Keiysha Cole.

My Tinashe.

My Nina Simone.

You are my Nao.

Should I holla if I see you again?

Should I?

What is a man to do in the heat of a moment?