the perpetual fear of scaring away the ones you love
greeted by a tapestry of stars, you are awoken by the sound of your name: gentle, cautious, an attempt to rouse you peacefully. they kiss you, a soft stroke on your peppermint lips. you whisper, and you laugh, and sometimes you fuck, a passion-ridden rollercoaster. they dress in an outfit they claim makes them look professional. you run a hand down their sleepy cheeks.
underneath a tightly knitted blanket, you touch each other, the soft sounds of a television programme buzzing behind you. the weather changes, your relationship changes, feelings stay the same but they begin to manifest in different ways. when it snows, they hold your mittened hand inside their own. when you kiss, they taste of warmth and home.
your person is wholesome and refreshing, a different kind of lover.
+ when they leave, they do it so completely you can
hardly remember them being there at all
and what went wrong?
woken by a clap of thunder, you look over the bed's ruffled blankets. their touch leaves your fingers feeling tingly, longing, just a little cold. to be so afraid of abandonment leaves you only vulnerable and small. when you fall in love, it's not without risk. when they leave, it's decisive and brusque.
and what went wrong but failing to commit
sometimes, you feel you are the only one putting effort in at all. sometimes, their absence makes you seethe. sometimes, you hold onto them too tightly and find yourself surprised when they can't breathe.
and why would somebody like them
love somebody like you
when they kiss you, they elicit in you a sense of self-acceptance. when they touch you, you come alive again.
About the author
neurodivergent, trans writer and parent. canadian. lover of nature, animals, mythology, travel, and knowledge. doing my best to feel comfortable inside this flesh vessel i call home.
i enjoy writing gay shit and torturing my protagonists.