Walking through your history, through the past lives, the long-ago dates, the places you just went about your day to day life after starting over only to lose most of it again, is rough.

At one point my bio said “nobody’s dream girl” and I think with the benefit of hindsight that was not true.

Random guy coming up and suggesting “however you identify”, that I should watch The World According to Garp because it’s a good movie, strong “hey sis you’re clocky as fuck, wanna be friends?” energy

I once said that protesting often felt like banging your head against a concrete wall and expecting it to move.

I need the wall to move.

Knowing that happiness can be had, and lost, the memories of what was lost, makes happiness feel all the more risky.

Occasionally I am reminded I am bisexual.

Like when the right poet is reading.

A teardrop slowly runs down one cheek. The air is just a wee bit chilly but the sensation on my skin is first one of ripping, then that of a searing, burning pain of cold. I want to go numb to it but I can’t not feel. The nerves can’t be muted.