Imogen, Obviously

by Becky Albertalli

Maybe I’m more liquid than most people are. I always seem to take the shape of my container. Usually, it’s a sort of relief, letting Gretchen remold me.

Then she buries her face in the crook of my neck, and every breath she breathes feels like a love letter.

“It’s like there’s this idea that you have to earn your label through suffering. And then you have to prove it with who you date, how you dress, how other people perceive you.”

Maybe shared experiences shouldn’t be the foundation at all. Maybe it should be a promise to hold space for variation.