By someone who never spoke the words in time
You’re gone in physical form, but spiritually you’re threaded through this universe like code through fabric. We crossed paths – LA, Miami, New York, even Virginia. At least a dozen encounters. A nod here, a “what’s good” there. But not once did I articulate what you meant to me and to millions.
I told myself I didn’t want to seem like a groupie. I let insecurity muzzle my admiration. I kept thinking, next time I’ll say it. Next time I’ll give him his props. Next time I’ll tell him he shifted culture. But “next time” is a myth dressed as a safety net. And next time never came. I don’t have a photo, a signed shoe, not even a scribble on a napkin. All I have are the flashbulb moments of your smile, your words in the air, your energy in motion. And the regret – not of what I said, but of what I didn’t.
This is my reminder to the world and to myself:
Tell your people what they mean to you. Your mother. Your father. Your brother. Your mentor. Your kids. Your friends. Your heroes. Don’t wait for proximity or occasion. Tomorrow is a rumor with good PR.
Tell your father he is your compass. Tell your mother she is architecture. Tell your siblings they are mythology in motion. Tell your friends they recalibrate your axis. Tell the people who inspire you that they are the prototype. Because tomorrow is just a rumor dressed up as a promise.
Virgil… your existence recalibrated possibility. You democratized imagination. You gave permission to break ceilings and rewire the blueprint. You will forever be an atlas of inspiration carved into culture. Your absence is loud, but your influence is louder.
Rest in power, architect. You changed fashion, art, music, and mentality but more than that, you changed us.
Happy Birthday V ✊🏾
With love,
Juan C.
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