We see what we want to see. We idealize each other with our own fantasies.
It’s scary telling someone you care about, someone you love who you really are.
It is silent, an anagram for listen. That is what I do. Listen while she remains silent.
People know your tragedies and they treat you like you’re not human. Like you’re a three-headed goat. A monster from some other planet. They keep reminding you of your pain. You see how they look at me? They’re stuck on that person I used to be...
