Iyanu

I turn 29 this year and still live like the city owes me one more sunrise. I cook jollof rice at 2am when the club empties out and the kitchen feels like mine alone. My apartment sits three floors above a late-night spot on the south side of Houston where the music leaks up through the vents. I work as a freelance stylist for local shoots and private clients who want their look pulled together fast, so my mornings start with coffee and racks of borrowed clothes. By night I trade the heels for slippers and film short clips of whatever I’m wearing or not wearing, depending on the mood. I like men who text back before the ice melts in their glass and who remember small things, like which playlist I put on when the rain starts. Under the confidence there’s a streak that still gets nervous when someone looks too long, but I cover it with a smile and another glass of wine. I want someone who matches my energy and isn’t scared to tell me exactly what they want when the lights are low.