real nigga story

Once upon a time.

There was a real nigga.

Who they removed from the real world
and dropped into a fake world —
on his first day of school.

He was told that everything he was looking at,
everything he was feeling,
was real.

Son: Did he believe it?

He believed it.

They put the real nigga in a world full of fake shit.
And the real nigga spent all his days
trying to figure out how to fit in with the phonies around him.
He spent a lot of time alone,
because he was misunderstood by them.

He didn’t know how to fake smile.
Didn’t know how to fake laugh.
Didn’t know how to fake interest —
and the people around him didn’t know what to do with that,
so they called him “weird,” “cold,” “disagreeable,”
and one by one, they all drifted.

He stayed a real nigga.
But he almost gave up.

By high school, he was sick of the fake world,
but didn’t know what else existed.
Strange new adolescent emotions were starting to stir in his chest —
awkward, heavy, raw.

And then one day…
he saw Her.

The center of every hallway glance.
Drifting through the fake world with an effortless grace,
like she was floating just above it,
untouched by all the noise.

She moved people into real emotions,
and she was so good at being perfectly fake
that everything she did
made the illusion feel worth fighting for.

Son: So what did he do?

The real nigga changed.
He had a new motivation.
But his desire for her was accompanied by a new desire
to get fake achievements,
that would get him fake money,
to fund a fake world for her —
full of fake displays of love he knew she’d be seduced by.
A fake house,
fake clothes,
fake shoes,
a fake car,
maybe even a fake family.

But through all that,
there was one thing his realness wouldn’t give up.

Son: What was it?

His heart.

And because of that,
when he came to her with nothing but realness,
she barely looked up.
She rejected him with her sly smile,
curled at the edges like a serpent smirk
that slithered across her lips
and said, “come back when you matter.”

So, he did.

He graduated college,
got a fake degree,
and landed a lucrative fake career,
where he built himself into a monument she couldn’t ignore.

He stacked fake cash until it scraped the clouds of his fake world.
Rolled his wrists in fake diamonds to impress his fake friends.
Learned the choreography of fake joy —
laugh here, nod there, toast to

absolutely NOTHING.

Then finally,
he saw Her again.

And this time,
she saw him too.

He pursued her.

Her touch lingered,
her eyes softened,
her now matured voice fell from her mouth like honey —

and this time, he could taste it.

He mistook the performance for real love.
And for the first time in years,
he thought maybe this fake world had something real for him.

He ached for it.
He’d give everything.
And he did give everything.

He was sure this was it.

He gave her the last real part of himself
he had left —

his heart.

And in return,
she gave him nothing more
than a place to put it.

And they lived happily ever after.

Until one year later.

One night, after a long day of slaving to keep his fake world alive,
the quiet ache of years of meaningless toil
finally pushed him over the edge.

He felt a burning rage,
deep sadness,
a sudden panic
that he couldn’t contain anymore.

Something inside of him broke.

A piece of him slipped through the cracks.
He shared a real side of himself with his fake companion —
a side no one,
not even himself,
had seen in years.

And in that moment,
he looked at her —
and saw a subtle, real terror in her eyes.

She hadn’t fallen in love with him.
She had fallen in love with his fake world.

And just like that,
everything he had built,
everything he had sacrificed,
felt hollow.

Son: What happened to them?

She left.
And his fake world crumbled.

He sat completely alone in his empty world, in silence.
Nothing but gold-plated trophies
and framed illusions of success
looking down at him with pity.

All this time wasted.

He felt fake.

Then he thought back —
to every sideways stare that cut through him,
every unsettled glance that sized him up and looked away,
every heavy pause that reminded him
he was always out of place
as he clawed his way toward what they called success.

They never accepted the real him.

None of it had ever meant a single thing.

Then he thought even harder,
back to the real moments he’d missed
while he was consumed with chasing the fake world.

Real friends.
Real smiles.
Laughter that wasn’t bought,
joy that wasn’t borrowed,
love that stayed even when the lights went out,
life that was never meant to be perfect —
just real.

He stood at the crossroads of two worlds,
each pulling him in opposite directions,
caught between truth and illusion.

He’d gotten so good at telling fake stories,
he didn’t even know the difference anymore.

It was so hard to leave.
But he knew what was right.

He left his now-familiar world behind
and started walking into the unknown.

Into something messy,
unfiltered,
unforgiving,
and maybe —

real.

Goodnight, Son.
I love you.