If she could just line up the way the world must see their love with the way this all feels, then everything would come into clearer view. If she could push back the words—dyke, queer—then everything would make sense and turn out all right. Sometimes, though, the terror of it grips her, the knowledge that she is not seen at all, or seen only backward and out of focus. It is a feeling she is sure will crush her someday.
