confession: sitting on a porch swing together in december sunlight makes saying hard stuff easier.
confession: trusting oneself after years of self-destructive choices is more difficult than trusting a new person.
confession: i like to think i’m independent, that i’ve got my own back, that i can solve any problem. this illusion evaporates when something goes wrong with my car. suddenly i feel inept and dependent and vulnerable and incapable. i call someone for help. that someone drops everything to help. i feel grateful and grateful and grateful and inept and dependent and i cry a little and i hug someone hard and i forget these feelings until the next time something goes wrong with my car.
confession: if i were a dude i’d want to be a super hot bad-ass gay mechanic who was the go-to guy for serving the lgbtqia community.
confession: he’s already good. i want him to be the best. i teach him secrets no one else knows.
confession: anger is easier to feel than hurt. anger is a shield against feeling hurt. feeling hurt feels small. feeling anger feels large. but anger isn’t the truer feeling; anger is the defense. feeling hurt is the true feeling i’m learning to express.
confession: love doesn’t hurt. sex shouldn’t hurt. sometimes it does.
confession: my friends and i refer to him as mr. chlamydia. please avoid behavior that earns you nicknames such as these.
confession: the only thing i miss about high school is making out (through second base) for hours.
confession: the best answer i’ve heard in response to any question in the past week: “because i wanted to roast a goat.”
confession: i’m the youngest i’ve ever been. he’s the oldest he’s ever been. this is how we meet in the middle.