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“I’m sorry.” “You apologize a lot,”
“The Crucible.” “Witches, stoning, and drowning. Fun times.”
Because pink is “girly,” because for some reason even colors have been assigned gender. Because I’m supposed to be a boy, and boys aren’t supposed to like pink.
“Tell me one thing you like about this painting.” “What do you mean?” “You always point out the flaws in your work, but what’s one thing you like about this painting?
“Be sad, hell, sit in bed all weekend and just watch Netflix. I’ve had those times too. But don’t stop living your life for them.”
Every time Nathan uses the wrong pronouns for me, it feels like a stab to the gut.
