It was just like a movie; you told me why we wouldn't work out & why, somewhere down the road, you'd walk away & I'd be despondent and heartbroken. But then you kissed me. & what a kiss; fingers in my hair, warm lips on mine, on my neck, on my collar bone.
You told me I was trouble.
& had it been a movie, I would've asked you to wait. & I would've said, "Do you want me to fight for you? Is that what this fucking is? Because I'll fight--I'll run the gauntlet. I don't care if your family hates me, I don't care if it's hard. Give me a chance to show you that no one will respect you like I will, invest in you like I will, love you like I know I will."
But it wasn't a movie, and instead, what I managed to piece together was a dumb joke.
"Well...I'm sorry I'm Puerto Rican, instead."
Me & my ill-advised, poorly timed jokes.