The rain brings back memories of the curve of your lip and that charming laugh of yours, the piercing green of your eyes.

Never fuck with Mestisa Pinay dykes. We are elusive, rare creatures with dulce de leche skin and the fires of the east heaving in our bosoms.

And I remember you. The girl with the same skin tone and same features, the one I discovered hidden beyond oceans of myth, after leaving my island on a flimsy raft to find you.

I had never met another Mestisa Pinay in my life, so when I found her, I made love to her.

At night, you whispered, "Lei sono una molto bella donna e voglio baciarlo." To me in Italian.
Translation: "You are a very beautiful girl and I want to kiss you."

"Maganda na." I responded in Tagalog. Translation: "Somebody here is beautiful."

"Bella." You'd say.

I'd cradle your face and nibble on your lip. And pull your head into my chest and we'd fall asleep that way, on weekends when your dad had to leave town on business trips and we'd pretend that little house in suburbia was ours.

I wonder if you really will come back for me some day like you always say you will.

Or if i'll ever have a time like that with anyone, ever again.

Maybe, by then, I will have learned to cook the next girl breakfast in bed instead of walking three blocks in tangerine pajamas to the nearest good restaurant to bring it to her while she's still asleep.