I like your tacos

By the way, I like your tacos.

I like your tacos. It’s not a simple meal; it tastes like I’m being pulled away by the waves of Bondi Beach. I can hear the whispers of the waves, and even though it’s cold, I can feel the warmth. With every bite, it reminds me of you. It reminds me of how you hate it when people don’t tell you what they want to happen.

I hate walking because I walk a lot on the streets of Melbourne, but through Sydney’s crowded streets, you made me forget the time as if I were hearing the lively hum of Darling Harbour. Oh, by the way, I went alone to the alleyways of The Rocks. I felt that blend of old and new, where the past meets the future. It’s been ages since I felt this comfortable, and I never wanted to leave your side that night.

Another thing, I like the pictures of your dog, and I can’t help but smile because they really look like you—their eyes are just a bit uneven, and I crack a joke because of all the stuff we took that night—it’s entirely unforgettable.

Oh, I really like your tacos, but I hate the fact that when you’re making them, it gives me a glimpse of the ghosts of what you went through. You told me stories of how your heart has been wounded and battered by storms, how you were left alone at sea, drifting in rough waters. People promised you calm seas but left you there, stranded and devastated, as if your heart were nothing more than a castaway.

I really really like your tacos. If I could only be the person who helps you make them, I would give you calmness in your stormy seas, a harbor where you could feel at ease without worries. If I could be that person, I’d make sure to remind you that love doesn’t always mean rough waters. It can be a quiet beach in the afternoon, taking off your shoes so the sand won’t get inside, a space that heals rather than harms.

I want to reiterate this, I like your tacos. Darling, if I could be the one to eat your tacos every time you make them, I’d want you to feel alive again. I would be the horizon, always there, unwavering. I really like your tacos. I like your tacos, but I know I’m not the person who will be eating tacos with you. For now, I will enjoy liking your tacos, but don’t worry—in the near future, I’ll find someone who can make me like sushi. I like your tacos, but maybe someday I’ll find some ways to like sushi too.