My love: it aches
“Such a simple question, such a complicated request — please, know me.”
The things I brought to MIT
I wasn’t going to make that mistake again. I was going to pack the clothes, and the books, and the journals, and the letters. And this time, it would work.
Okay. Before I (officially) begin: I love you.
Thing one, thing two, and...
When is the best time to fix my roof? When the sun is out, and I can muster up the courage to say that my life is worth something.
Love is —
I think about how I told my friend at lunch today, I don’t say I love you enough, but I’ll do better.
The story is not over
I’m comfortable with the word “queer,” but people still don’t get it. This secret is trapped. It has been for years.
It comes in waves
I allow myself to digest my body from the inside out.
The day after
Do I deserve the happiness that I have? I don’t know, but I want to.
A good day,
The kids stole my bed, and I looked outside at orange leaves, and the air seeping through my window felt brisk instead of cold, and I knew my breath would be visible as I lived.
To you. Yes. You.
I’m trying to live in memories and hope for the future and remain in the present moment; impossibly I think I might actually be doing it, but not enough — never as much as I want to.