I’m crying over the sounds of the night time coquis, that are coveted by the noise of passing cars playing reggaeton music, and the loose ceiling fan above my head. I don’t think anyone can hear me, I tried to hold back the tears, I attempted to clutch my chest where the word ‘fuerza’ is tattooed and yell out FUCK THIS SHIT! Because I wanted so badly to resist feelings of love. But I could care less about being strong and I could care less about forgetting you.

I want to enjoy feeling weak and hopeless and soak my sorrows in memories of us. I want to be dipped in vulnerability and revisit every spot you kissed on my body and tell you all that you mean to me- even if you reject it all. I’m sorry I even took a risk, but then took another and another. So I’m actually not sorry because I couldn’t resist. Now I sit here back against the wall, on a hot summer night, with your scent laid upon my skin. Next to the window facing the Flamboyan tree we conversed about before making love, on a small street somewhere between Taft and San Jorge, en esta hermosa isla Puerto Rico....missing you already.

Yesterday we sat on a bench, on top of El Morro, after you led me through Paseo De La Princesa. We talked about Zappa and I gave you shit because you left out Celia Cruz from your Fania All Stars footnote.We shared slices of silence as sweet as the banana cream pie I spooned in your mouth back in NYC. We peered toward the ocean and you told me to look closely at the kite flyers and you encouraged me to take a picture. I did.

The breeze was perfect for kite flying and for listening to the strong ocean winds that seemed to carry the vibrations of our hearts amongst the current. Here on this isla things are different, I longed for you every day since the last time we were together in New York. Here we seem to forget about all the noise back in our hometowns. Optimism and laughter and contentment consumed me.

I know how special this place is to you. You shared the story of bringing your mother here before she passed. Is it selfish of me to want to be the only other person you share this view with? Today, before I headed back to Milwaukee, I came back to the same bench we sat on yesterday. I pretended you were sitting next to me and I reminisced about the past two days with you and I could see your face-your expressions that I studied, and thought of how wild I let myself get with you and smiled.

How revolutionary of us to share moments here on this island together amidst all the world’s problems. A Chicana and a Nuyorican, how did this happen? I could hear the tambor y jaranas in sync. I think our ancestors are dancing and singing songs of an alma cimarrón, in celebration of a reincarnated love. I believe they are routing for us and are pleased. A love that conquers and calms. A love that has stories to tell for generations to come. A love that despite past mistakes has found a way. a love that glistens just like this sea y estos momentos siempre vivirán.

Today our son asked for chicken tikka masala. 

And my world stood still, while my mind became a tsunami of memories.

Of our first date, of the many times you asked me out and I kept saying ‘no’ 

And of the time you asked me one last time, and I said ‘yes’

You took me to the Indian restaurant you knew I loved. 

Where we shared our first laughs, food comas, and sweet chais.  

Where we went when I had mad cravings, when our son was in my womb. 

And were we went as a family on Sundays after he was born.

I haven’t been back. I don’t even travel down that street. I don’t go near it anymore

I don’t crave it. The wound is still sore.

Today our son asked for chicken tikka masala.

and I asked you to take him. 

You said you hadn’t been back

and this made me think, that maybe…

you were sorry. 

That maybe…

this place haunts you too.