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There was a hollow hole carved out inside me, and it never healed. It was doomed to ache and burn, to churn with emptiness and be crowded with scar tissue. Those were the worst kind of wounds, weren’t they? They ones that never healed. The ones you knew were chronic and would ache forever.
When someone gives you something you truly didn’t think you’d ever get, it stings. You go through a whole host of fleeting but totally felt emotions in rapid fire. Shock. She didn’t say that. Disbelief. Is my mind playing tricks on me? Desperate want. Does she know what she’s saying? Does she mean it? Relief. Would someone understand?
The second I wrapped my arms around you, the second I looked into your wide eyes, my world tilted. Not so it was crooked, but so it was straight.
Infinity is just an illusion. Something we tell ourselves we have, because truly realizing just how fragile time is would be close to crippling.
Sometimes the discomfort of indecision was preferable to the pain of choice. Especially when so many of the decisions we made in a moment could alter the rest of our lives.
We were both too broken. We’d end up cut by each other’s jagged edges.
“I wasn’t expecting you,” he replied, still gazing out his window. Something about his tone whispered this was about way more than me yelling at him earlier. This was about whatever it was that broke him. “It’s okay,” I whispered, wanting to help him, but not very confident I could. “I wasn’t expecting you either.”
I need to stop letting being gay define me and instead define being gay.”
Hope could be crushing, especially when the thing you hoped for didn’t show up. Sometimes it was better to live with nothing than to live with the disappointment of hope unfulfilled.
“How in the hell could you have given me your heart?” I wondered aloud. “Because you’re the one who taught it to beat again.”
What was it about the broken and damaged? The ones that rise from the wreckage to walk or sometimes even stumble away? Being a survivor made every moment, every kind word a little more meaningful, because they were the ones who knew what almost never was.
I might not be ready to tell him those three words, but I would always, no matter what, treat him as if I already had.
Arrow was my all, and without him, I had absolutely nothing.
