One sip of coffee

One sip of coffee was everything it took to start our friendship.

You held my hand the entire time during this ride.

Every plane, every bus, every car, you were there.

Every visit to the hospital, every doctor’s appointment, you were there.

Every funeral, every burial, you were there.

I saw you. I saw a home in your eyes.

I saw a warm plate of arroz con habichuelas in every hug, every kiss, every joy in your eyes.

Shining like aquella luna llena when Mercury Retrograde was hitting its fullest.

As I season my food like my ancestors taught me to, I sit down and read.

Read and read.

I feel so conflicted.

All the trauma and experiences I have told you were invalidated in one comment typed by your own delicate fingers.

And I plea for you to listen to me.

Listen, listen.

Yet I realized, with that comment and indifference to speak about it, all you did was react.

You nodded.

All these ujum are making sense now.

Looking into my mental archives, I searched where was that moment I clearly let this pass?

But I sincerely do not remember.

Was it during that time you made a slight joke about my hair?

Where I thought just remember, she was the one who accepted you in your worst, and let it slide?

Was it during that time I heard you ugh when you saw my friend after her transition?

Where I thought just remember, she’s your friend and will eventually run with it?

Whatever it was, it was sure enough for me to think if I truly was accepting you in my
space because I finally had a best friend, or because I thought I felt safe.