A/N: so new series. This first one is Riley's POV. The song is Hello by J Cole (on his latest album, 2014 Forest Hills Drive). The song is in the italics. This is it. Like legit when the chapter ends this specific story ends, but not the whole fic. The next chapter will be another songfic, hence Songfic Series being the title.

P.S. since some ...**insert explicit content**... the fic is simply based off of Hello, and does not have hello in it.

DISCLAIMER: I DON'T OWN THE BOONDOCKS, HELLO

I can't believe that she actually wanted to see me… she's always wanted to be with him. Even when that no-good, two-faced Jamaican nigga walked out on her, she still welcomed him right back in.

Not only to her home, but also to her heart and her legs.

At this point, I don't care how gay it sounds… I need C-Murph back. I miss our high school days, playing games on hoes like there's no tomorrow. I miss her dissing everyone in town, and the tricks we used to play on older people.

But as I grow older, I miss every perfect thing she used to do, because she, herself, was the definition of perfect. I miss everything she did, but I had to get out her life because she had another man.

I wouldn't even be able to spend that much time around those kids. Bless their souls, but I can't even look at a picture of them without being disgusted.

Cindy's told me she can't either, and she cries especially when she looks at her eldest son, who looks the most like the same person who left her.

I don't even have my own kids.

But at the end of it all, I rather be a father to Cindy's kids, and teach them that not every man is a nigga like Ceez, and not every nigga walks out on their families, just because their legs can move and they breathing.

And at the end of day, I still don't have a real place to live. Staying at random bitches' and niggas' houses isn't really getting me anywhere, and the few things I do own, I would give up in two seconds to see her again.

I thought about all her quotes, from, "back the hell up, hoe", to "I don't know what I would do without you, Reez", to, "we're like peanut butter and jelly… except I wouldn't be every average white kid's sandwich".

I thought about our countless, everlasting games of basketball, and how no matter what I could do, white girl always had more game then me in b-ball. She was like LeBron James, Kobe Bryant and Michael Jordan all combined, together, as one, soon as she got out on that court.

I always thought we'd be in holy matrimony. But I'm glad she at least wants to see me; I'm glad she at least is beginning to grasp the reality that we were meant to be.

I felt like that's the question I was asking her all those years. I always wanted to know why she wanted nothing to do with me, though I wasn't the one that hurt her.

I always wondered why she pushed me away when I tried to give her comfort, something my adolescence self would say real niggas don't do.

I always tried to change for her, always tried to be the best man—no, person—I could be. But apparently being me, or more polite versions of me, would never win her heart.

I don't remember when I confronted my feelings for my ride or die; maybe it was one of the times she referenced to us as Bonnie and Clyde, and I truly thought we could become more.

Maybe it was one of the times she asked for more time to hang out with me.

And this is why I hate to think about these things. I always ask myself what I did wrong; I always end up hating myself even more for letting her push me away, when I should've stayed and made sure she was steady, not letting her half-ass answers and close-cut words get to me.

Rejection from my day one was what I faced, and stuck in torture would be my diagnosis. But she had still invited me over, she had still wanted me in her presence, and that was truly the closing factor.

And as I turned the corner, just six houses away from her own, I reminisced one last time on the moments we used to share. And more importantly, I promised myself I would no longer have to reminisce, that I wouldn't let her shut me out once again, and that I would make new memories with her that would exceed the time of the pain we've each felt.

I walk up the four or five steps that lead to the front door, and ring the doorbell—preparing myself to see the beauty and perfection that is my old best friend, and my forever love.

A/N: so tell me what you think. And for all y'all that are pissed that I'm not updating my other stuff (or at least feeling some type of way), I wanted to experiment with something new, plus I feel as though songfics are much easier to write. My other stories have no real backbone, because stuff is made up as I go along. But when a song is included, the subject matter has to relate to the song, at least a little bit, so yah. They're easier for me, at least.

I also will have a selfie as my profile pic until 12pm today, which includes a portion of my face. And then Huey will take over the profile pic again, lol.