Perfect on Paper

For the first time, the very very first time, I really believed them. That my relationship status did not change me. And that even if other people didn't agree, every single person in this room had my back without hesitation. I was with them and they were with me and we were with each other. A community within a community within a community. No questions asked. No proof needed. No valid form of identification required. We just belonged because we belonged.

Setting aside the messiness of which accents were considered sexy in which cultures and why, accents in general were nature’s way of saying, “Procreate with that one, their gene code must be varied as fuck.” Few things, it seemed, could turn a person on as quickly as the subconscious realization they almost certainly weren’t flirting with a blood relative.

You'd be surprised how easy it is to talk an anxiously attached person down from their spiral if you don't leave them in silence to imagine the worst.

Of all the terrifying decisions I’d had to make this year, among all the missteps and bad calls and failed attempts—agreeing to help Alexander Brougham was the most perfectly right decision I’d ever made.

Brougham arrived at Mom’s house to join in on my birthday cake holding a plate of white bread coated in sugar sprinkles, for some reason.

His weird little bastard accent had already been growing on me, but now that I was aware of its history, even more so.

But she hadn't chosen me. She was never going to. And it didn't matter how caring I was, or how much effort I put into my hair and makeup, or how much time I put in. It was me, as I was, that wasn't doing it for her. There wasn't anything I could do to change that. And that made me feel like there was something inherently not good enough about me.

You want me to shout, 'Fuck this, it sucks,' in the middle of Disneyland? The Happiest Place on Earth?

Music taste always felt so personal. Like if someone judged your playlist, they were really judging your soul.

What is it with guys calling their girlfriends psycho? It’s an epidemic.

So why did I feel like this? Like vines had grown around my heart and compressed it, and snaked up into my throat to choke my airway? Like something awful was coming, only I didn't know what?

And these days,that taste,that smell,made me fell warm,and safe,and infinite. In fact,as it was turning out,upon reflection,maybe i wasn't avoidant at all. Because despite my fears and doubts and confusion at the beginning,now whenever Brougham looked at me,or I looked at him,there was no part of me that felt smothred.

I woke up at four a.m. this morning after an inspired dream and realized - alliteration! We should be the Queer and Questioning Qlub. Qlub with a Q. Triple Q. That'll definitely increase recruitment.

It's fitting for it to be raining," Brooke said. "I'd say you have climate change to thank for it," I said, working a comb through my matted waves. Brooke cuddled herself into an even tighter ball. "it's convenient." "Well that's the first nice thing I've ever heard said about climate change." "Yes, well, everyone deserves to hear something positive about themselves every now and then. Even climate change.

I swallowed, and scanned the faces staring up at me. No one looked judgy or irritated, even though it felt like such a stupid, trivial thing to bring up. The fear of passing as straight, for god's safe. "I feel like if I'm with a guy, I won't belong here properly anymore. What if I got a boyfriend? I'd feel weird bringing him to pride events, or even telling queer people I have a boyfriend. I'd feel judged.