She was an all or nothing, never fully here or there. She didn’t settle anywhere, nor with anyone, and definitely not with herself. And yet I loved her and every ugly thing about her, even if I told her I hated it. And I know she hated everything I found lovely about her, even if she told me she loved it. I know she hated herself when at four a.m. she sat on her bed, reading my two days old message explaining to her why I hate her so so much. But oh how I loved her, so so much. She was the only one I allowed to caress my soul, sometimes my cheek, or my member. But most times she scratched and bit and hit. And then she leaves the room, sometimes laughing at how famished she got me, other times screaming at me for being half a men. On her bad days, she would leave the room crying, for she knew the way her smile got me messed up, and she knew I didn’t care. What matters is that she always left, and she always came back, then we would make love but it never feels the same, even if it always felt like home. Sometimes it was effervescent like spring, collected like summer, sometimes unpredictable like autumn and other times cold like winter, always a contradiction. But always alive. She was life itself in the shape of hips, parted lips and delicate fingers.
She says she is aware of it, her contradictions, her thoughts, her flaws. But if she did she wouldn’t wake up just to wait for the night to come when she could quiet down her mind. She wouldn’t drown out her existence in shredded papers, incomplete playlists, and beds that aren’t her own. If she knew, she wouldn’t knock at my door at 3 a.m. trying to make sense of the poems she wrote the night before as if she suddenly forgot to read her own writing. She never asks me but I know she wants to know what I think of her because she never knew what to think of herself. I never think about her, even if she is all that ever crosses my mind whenever I tell a woman I love her, or I hate her. But what else is there to think of a woman that bandages the same scars she had inflicted? A woman that sucks the life out of you only to give it back with one kiss. Fresh, brand new. A baby that has yet to learn about a life he never knew existed, a life so wild so free so alive. So contradictory, but always so alive.

Just like Carmen. A beautiful contradiction.