Saving All My Love For You
Whitney wasn’t a diva. She was not the American soul R&B singer. Oh no, she wasn’t a music legend. What Whitney was, was the girl who was saving all her love for me.
I remember your first album, you all of 19 years, fresh-filled with candyfloss sweetness. That song, that song that would not vacate my synapses. And your voice. A few stolen moments was all that we shared. No, I lie we shared more. More. I played that song over and over. My family did not need me. I needed Whitney. I disliked the pop bows – I Wanna Dance With Somebody – and loved the pop grooves – I’m Your Baby Tonight. You were huge and your star was set up next to Aquarius. What went wrong? Tell me, what went wrong? Why did you marry Bobby Brown? Good girls and bad boys. I’ve never understood the attraction. It’s vile madness. Yet, good girls commit the same errors. I digged Bobby and his Prerogative. Who can forget him in Don’t Be Cruel? But did he have to be your man? Still your man?
Soon afterwards your star fell from the heavens like the Titans losing to Zeus and the Olympians. It’s so sad to see your talent come to grief. You could have mentored young singers (people who sing rather than just wriggle their bottoms, you know like Nicole Sche-something]. You could have set up a foundation to sponsor bright young black kids, you could have traveled, discovered places, read books, recorded jazz albums, done anything and more – all those things we with no money dream we’ll do if only we had some. You chose to get strung out on dope or was it crack? I forget. I’d rather be home feeling blue. At least you went out at the Grammys. Fancy that.
Ah, Whitney, now we won’t be making love the whole night through! I’ll miss you.