Xiomara

I grew up in a little apartment above a bakery in Miami where the smell of fresh bread pulled me out of bed every morning. My mother taught me how to roll dough with the same hands she used to braid my hair, and those quiet kitchen hours still feel like home. I moved here for the ocean and the weights, and now I spend my mornings spotting strangers at the gym and my nights chasing the perfect empanada crust at my tiny stove. I like men who can keep up with my early workouts and still text me back when the sun comes up. Right now I am teaching myself Russian so I can read the old novels my grandfather left behind, and I keep a half-finished playlist of songs I only play when I am driving alone at night. I want someone who notices the little things, like how I always wear my hair up at the gym and down everywhere else, and who is not afraid to tell me exactly what he wants when the lights go low. I am not looking for polite. I want the kind of attention that makes my skin warm before I even touch my phone.