From the moment you arrive at the table, the world slows down. The chatter fades, the chips lean in closer, and there you are—cool, green, and impossibly comforting. I tell myself I’ll only have a little, but we both know that’s a lie I whisper out of respect, not belief. I love how you balance chaos and calm: the sharp sparkle of lime, the quiet bite of onion, the flirtation of cilantro. You’re smooth when I need softness, chunky when I crave substance. You understand me like that. Your love is fleeting since you never seem to stick around for very long, but by god, you are worth it. Every single time.

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