i walked into the grocery store for olive oil and toothpaste.
but then i passed the fruit section and smelled something i wasn’t expecting a papaya, too soft, too sweet, too close to a memory.
and suddenly, i wasn’t in miami. I was in line at a feira in brazil, coins in my hand, sweat on my back, someone calling me filha.
i didn’t buy the papaya. i just stood there, missing a place i left and still carry.
