i’m drawn to you. and i have been for a lifetime.
i want to scream. i shall only halt when the windows rupture from their sills and the floor begins to shake. only then will i be able to go about my day.
though i am a young, privileged white woman, with nothing to complain of, sobs rack my body for years on end. my picket fence and shaggy dog can’t save me from this ugly world.
i rip open my stitches each time you stumble back into my life. even though i know i will cry tonight as i stitch them up after you leave.
for the first time i am completely fine in my own.
she looks like me, talks like me, acts like me. and i know you can’t stand that she’s still not quite me.
nothing. i feel nothing.
we were so close yet so so far. like december and january are.
i live for the in between with you. your possessive hand on my hip when we go out. your glances across a crowded room. when you bring me flowers on random tuesdays.
the worst sadness i’ve ever felt was grieving you while you were still very much alive.