Every Girl I've Loved A Lifetime Ago

Ramona

Ramona liked rock n roll, caramel macchiatos, collecting bottle caps, long road trips, and summer rain falls.
She wore low rise jeans, crop tops, clumpy mascara, blue and pink braces, and brass chunky bracelets.
She had smokey gray eyes, a long pointed nose, thick, dark, curly hair, brown, soft skin, and crooked, pearly teeth.
Romana hated losing her keys, chipped nail polish, loud, abrupt noises, her long list of exes, and Grey's Anatomy.
Ramona liked apple juice, graham crackers, stand up comedy, salsa dancing, and scarlet macaws.
She was intelligent, hilarious, empathetic, understanding, and beautifully confident.
She looked younger than she was.
She worked the graveyard shift at 7/11, would cry every time she saw pictures of cancer patients on Instagram, won two hot dog eating contests, doesn't go to bed until 4 am, and can't pronounce "anemone".
Ramona hated her older sister, Bonita, swimming in the ocean, the Warrior Cat books, basketball, and pickles.
I loved Ramona naked, I loved her real, I loved her raw.
If she was stripped of everything that made her her, I would have still been infatuated.
I am still unsure if that is a good thing.
Ramona kissed another girl in my apartment at a party she convinced me to throw.
Her hair was platinum blond, eyebrows as faded as I was, eyeliner sharper than Virginia's switchblades, and she had black dangly earrings.
I wasn't as mad as I should have been, watching them two lock lips.
My thoughts were wax poetic, eloquent, and a deep, angry red.
But my spoken words were slurred and inarticulate and I sounded drunker than I was.
Ramona looked like she wanted to laugh, but was too devastated to do so.
I felt the tears rush down my cheeks but couldn't feel them burning in my eyes.
Blondie looked anxious and disappointed and confused and apologetic.
I didn't know who she was nor what she was doing at my party.
I saw Ramona constantly after, always hanging off someone new.
In February, Jay Skin with her sister in prison, peony colored lips, and sunshine smile.
In March, Dolly Cleves with her baseball obsession, protein shakes, and steel hard courage.
In April, Elise Velvet with her smokey eye makeup, Kardashian ass, and spray tan skin.
In May, Jenna Lopez with her fake blond hair, obnoxious laugh, and laundry scent.
In June, Iris McVey with her chocolate curls, defined abs, and moss eyes.
But I long stopped caring about whoever Ramona was smiling at now when I met Aaliyah.