The suit couldn’t give him a sharper jawline or take away the softness of his eyes. It didn’t change anything that was underneath. But he’d been emulsified and poured into a man-shaped mold. He was staring into a mirror, and Valentine was finally staring back.
I think there's an inherent worry in a lot of people that they aren't queer enough. That they aren't trans enough. I get these feelings from time to time and have even had the ridiculous notion that I'm not trans enough to have written this book of trans ache and trans joy. But so many readers have told me how strongly they identify with Valentine, that they've never felt so seen in a book before. Well, reader, you make me feel seen too, and there's comfort in knowing none of us are alone in these feelings and our journeys.
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