𝘞 𝘏 𝘌 𝘕 𝘙 𝘈 𝘐 𝘕 𝘍 𝘈 𝘓 𝘓 𝘚

extended stay/new york, new york.

there are so many reasons to not like me,
she says,
nail polish stain on her cheek.
she don't know how it got there,
but it's drying,
lavender.
so many reasons,
she continues,
and i can't name even a couple.

elise and i,
we watch t.v. on the carpet of her mother's home in new york.
it's quiet soap operas in may and cheeto dust
staining our fingers.
lavender on her cheek, her toenails poking from her slippers,
she looks at me and with her gap tooth, she smiles.

there's smoke from an incense stick that's
balanced on the open window in a forty story apartment
complex,
elise and i eating her mother's tamales like we've never had dinner.
like we've never seen sunlight.
like i've never felt home.
and es spicy, y me quemo la mano
on the side of a glass plate when putting it on the stove.
elise takes toothpaste from the bathroom to coat it in.

there's so many reasons to not like me,
elise says,
have you figured them out yet?

i tell her no.
i tell her i can only see the good,
i tell her it's a curse.

she sighs,
ay dios—
when you only see good, you see how things are.

maybe the world is miserable
because we make it.

maybe we could be happier
if we were cursed,

too.

— extended stay/new york, new york.