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“I forgot how weird you are,” he says when I sit back down. “You’re a dead language, you know that? No one is like you, and you are like no one.”
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“Really? No funny business.” “I don’t know what funny business is. I can ask my grandma; she says that sometimes.”
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He reaches his hand toward me. I go to him. Maybe I run. Probably not, though, because that’s not cool.
I’ve noticed that people don’t really look you in the eye, because their eyes are somewhere else. Pointed inward. I make it a point to look everyone in the eye so they know I’m seeing them. That’s how Kit made me feel—seen.
“Let people feel the weight of who you really are, and let them fucking deal with it.”

