Catch and Cradle

by Katia Rose

I can feel the blunt weight of it slamming into me over and over again. Whatever that kiss was, it was not a mistake. I will never be able to call something so incredible a mistake. Even if she can.

I don’t want Hope to leave.

I don’t know who I’d be if I lost that. I don’t know who I am without lacrosse.

It’s very gay.

“Now fuck me with two of your fingers while you keep licking me just like that.”

I don’t need words. I just need this. I just need her.

I’ve been out as a lesbian since I was seventeen, but I’ve never loved out loud.

I have to work to drill kinesiology terms into my head, but something about environmental science has always just stuck for me.

Every day, it feels like another piece of her is gone from me, like the links between us are snapping off one by one.

I’m scared to feel like I did that night: like I was asking and asking, and she just stood there giving me nothing.

Life changes. It’s always moving and shifting, just like the sea or the sky. The world grows and evolves, and we have to grow and evolve right along with it. Counting on people isn’t about asking them not to change; it’s about trusting them to keep being there for you even when they do change.

I will admit that accidentally showing up to practice in a shirt with Becca’s name on the back instead of mine was asking for it.

Maybe sometimes you just need to take the damn shot

and stop worrying about what everyone else will say.

“Hope Hastings, did you seriously buy a bouquet of flowers solely because they remind you of my vagina?”