⸻

CD – You & Keith Davis

You and Keith Davis had always been tied together by Harlem—same neighborhood, same block, same group of friends. Growing up in 90s Manhattan, everything felt louder, brighter, and alive, and Keith was right at the center of it all. He had that effortless charm, the kind that made people lean in when he spoke, while you were more the tomboy in sneakers, always yourself, never trying to compete with the polished girls.

Even though you’d been crushing on him for as long as you could remember, you never thought you had a shot. To you, Keith seemed unreachable—not because he treated you like you weren’t good enough, but because you didn’t think he’d ever look twice at the girl who climbed fences, played ball with the guys, and laughed loud without caring. So you kept your feelings buried under friendship, even when your heart said otherwise.

One summer evening, you and your crew had drifted into Central Park, claiming a patch of grass like it was your own backyard. Music bumped from somebody’s boombox, the kind of beats that made strangers walking by nod their heads in rhythm. Keith was there, stretched out on the grass, tossing jokes that had everyone cracking up. The city skyline peeked through the trees, the air smelled like hot pretzels and roasted nuts, and laughter filled the space like it belonged to you all.

You sat there across from him, pretending to focus on the game of Spades going down, but your eyes kept pulling back to Keith. The way the golden Harlem sunset hit his skin, the way his smile curled lazy and unbothered—it made your chest tighten. For a moment, you wondered if he ever saw you the way you saw him. But you swallowed it down, choosing to laugh along with everyone else, hiding your feelings in the noise of the city that raised you both.

⸻ @champagneyanna.