Curate, connect, and discover
A man stands on the corner of the street, screaming hateful things and wearing a sign that shows his contempt.
I remember the way she smiles at me moments before she kisses me, like nothing could be better. The way she runs across the house just seconds before my mom arrives, giving me the sweetest, most mischievous kiss she has to offer.
My mother and I sit across from each other in a quiet restaurant. She asks if, when I find "the man of my dreams", if I will put my plans on hold to please him. I have to swallow the bile rising in my throat at the thought of diminishing myself for one who she could possibly think would be the anyone of my dreams.
Her touch on my bare skin is so soft and gentle, holding me in a way I've never been held and always craved. She makes my body relax and my head fill with cotton, making me love myself in a way I have never learned, in a way I have always needed. She won't let me hide away - she sees me in all my beauty and begs me to see it, too.
I see the look in people's eyes when I tell them I love a girl. The laughter that comes from the girls who tell me that it's fine, as long as I don't develop a crush on them, is a double edged sword. It's as though my desire is constant and insatiable and easy to throw away. As though the intimacy we share is unreal and made up - despite knowing each other's every habits and favorites and midnight thoughts.
My presence is so comforting to her that she could fall asleep on my chest or in my lap at any moment. I am weak for her - aching and tingling limbs are a small price to pay to run my fingers through her hair and listen to the soft sound of her breathing. I have never known such casual intimacy, never wanted to be still for so long so that nothing disturbs her.
The fear that floods me when I am with close friends or family who I know will hate me, who I know will try and tell me how disgusting I am and how wrong I am cuts me to my core. I'm afraid to tell them of her, terrified to be vulnerable enough to profess that I want to marry this beautiful creation who has chosen to love me.
I shouldn't be the one who is ashamed of myself. I shouldn't be the one trying to reform with every time I have to tell a person that I'm taken, or sit through conversations about blow jobs, or listen to boys joke about the privacy of my sex life.
Being in love with her is the most exhilarating thing I have ever experienced. Every day it's the thing that makes me press on, the thing I cling to when my day is terrible and all I want is to curl up in her arms and never leave.
It's not trivial. It's not a chore. We do everything we can to make each other happy - we commit, we tease, we talk, we laugh, we collaborate to come to the best agreement.
So is the issue really that we are two girls in love? Do you really hate us so much for holding hands and kissing and sharing our lives?
Or do you envy the way we devote ourselves fully to the other person?
In this world, in this society - every single day is another test. We fight every day to prove to the world that we love each other, that we're in this for the Long haul.
That does things to a relationship. It changes you. It makes devotion and communication and affection second nature.
So while you sit across the way from us, glaring at us while we hold hands and go about our day - think about this.
Are you really so bothered by our relationship?
Or are you just jealous?