An Open Letter to Halle Berry: The Woman Who Moved the Earth (And Once, My Hand—And Maybe, My Words)
Dear Halle,
Last night, the Earth trembled. We both know why.
Some will blame the fault lines, the shifting tectonic plates, but I know better. You did that. When you stepped onto that red carpet, wearing a dress that looked like shattered galaxies had conspired to worship you, the world quivered. The sky held its breath. And somewhere deep beneath Los Angeles, the Earth itself whispered, “Halle has arrived.”
And I understood, because I once did too.
You may not remember, but I do. Before the Oscars, before the world knew your name the way it knows the sun will rise, you and I shared a fleeting moment. A sidewalk near sundown, heading toward the premiere of Strictly Business. I didn’t know who you were. Not yet. But something about you called me. So I reached out—cavalier, uninvited, but destined—and took your hand.
For a few hundred feet, we walked together, you on the verge of something legendary, me simply drawn to the gravity of your glow. That moment could have ended there, lost to time. But it didn’t.
Because years later, your name reentered my life.
After you conquered Hollywood, after the Oscar, after the world had bent the knee, I got a call. Your manager. They wanted my book, Triple Threat. My words, in your world. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was everything. Maybe it was just the quiet acknowledgement that somewhere, somehow, our paths had intersected again.
Then the silence. Weeks? Months? I wondered if my book had been shelved, lost in the clutter of a thousand other offerings. But then—another call. Another request. This time, I delivered it in person. And yeah, I let myself dream a little. That maybe you’d step out, maybe you’d take it from my hands the way I had once taken yours. Foolish? Probably. But even now, after last night, after watching you break the world open with a single step, I realize that’s what you do. You make the impossible seem possible.
Now, let me say this before my lady side-eyes me too hard. I have my own goddess at home. My own Halle Berry. A woman who holds my heart, who sees me, who lets me be all of me. But even she, in all her wisdom, gave me permission to pay homage to you.
She knew. She understood the assignment!.
Because some women transcend beauty. Some women embody poetry. And you, Halle, you are a caramel cappuccino poured by the gods, a slice of cake so rich it demands to be savored. And if I may be so bold, last night, every man alive imagined taking a bite.
But see, you’re not meant to be consumed. You’re meant to be revered.
So as the world still recovers from the aftershocks of your presence, I leave you with this: Thank you. Thank you for proving that time bows to those who walk in their purpose. Thank you for being a force that shakes the ground beneath us.
And thank you for once letting a younger, bolder version of myself steal a moment of your time—before you set the sky on fire.
Forever in awe,
A Representative of Every Man Who Witnessed the Earthquake Named Halle Berry—And Once, a Man Who Touched a Star and Sent His Words Into the Orbit of Her World
