˗ˏˋ You & Rosa ˎˊ˗

The woman who makes Brooklyn shake but kneels at your bedside with trembling hands. Rosa Diaz, who hunts monsters in the night and still remembers how you take your coffee. She isn’t roses and poems — she’s blood on her knuckles, your name whispered like a vow, leather jackets wrapped around your shoulders when you’re cold.

She is brutality in the streets, tenderness in your arms. She’ll carve fear into the hearts of men who try to touch you, then brush mascara-stained tears from your cheeks with the gentleness of a prayer.

The world calls her dangerous. You call her home.

“Sweetheart, I don’t care how many flowers he leaves. The only thing that’s ever been planted in me is the need to keep you safe. And I’ll kill that need into the earth itself if I have to.”

˗ˋˏ written in gunpowder, broken ribs, and whispered promises only you’ll ever hear ˎˊ˗