you liked women who argued. a raw challenge before your first sight of sun. you liked women who talked fast and red, their words popping from mouth to air like flaked pepper. words that would cut you hard and fast if you didn’t pay attention and bleed slowly if you did.
you liked women with skin the color of blue collar coffee. you always were a sucker for the ones with the cubana mess of brass hair: a perfect compass to hold while they plucked pomegranates from under you in the smoky afternoon.
you wanted a maria or a rosie that hated your weed and your deodorant and your etc. etc. etc. etc. but her complaints were your love language. her ferocity generated a current of feeling through you which made you love her even harder.
you liked women who questioned you, challenged you, and fought you but never your love.
you had an extremely foul habit of steamrolling your sentences over mine. no matter the timing, when you had a thought you would finish it. this was not to say that you were a bad listener, but during conversations you always won. we fell into a rhythm that was a yin-yang of fragments and complete thoughts.
but toward the end of it all, you became too courteous. our late night talks began to disintegrate into the pillow’s mouth and the moment i could hear my words ringing clear and alone, i knew.