We sipped poorly mixed drinks on the top floor of some building converted into a “speakeasy” where my friend was DJing for the last time before she moved to NYC. Some song off Care Package came on, and I reacted automatically, spewing grand statements like “Omarion is a slept-on genius” as I often do when I really love something. You smiled back and told me you liked the song. We went back to your place early that night because you had some law school activities to tend to in the morning, but we stayed up late anyway drinking whiskey, making out on your couch, and listening to tracks that I picked off of YouTube. I appreciated that about you; most guys I dated were always such jackasses about their taste over mine, but you always listened to me when I talked about the things that I liked. You were the first guy that I ever showed any of my writing to, the first guy who really asked and pushed and prodded despite how shy I was about it. We fought about Kanye that night, and you engaged me as an equal, not a stupid fucking girl that you had to teach.
We finished listening to Care Package, and I even helped you download it off of Datpiff. I haven’t seen you since I left you standing behind your gate a couple of Sunday afternoons later, but I hope you kept that EP. Omarion’s still a slept-on genius.