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It’s in all the little mannerisms and phrases I’ve stolen from “you”, it’s in the way I dress and the way I define love; all little pieces of you that are stitched into my identity, woven seamlessly into my life, seasoning all of my experiences like a familiar recipe.
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At the end of the day, I really don’t know anything about love, but I want to learn how to love sustainably. I know I deserve a relationship that is well-balanced and nurturing.
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When I leave home, who will ask me when I’m coming back? Who will leave the light on in the kitchen?
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This column has been my little corner of the internet where I can write about my life, but as intimate as it feels, it’s scary how easy it is for anyone to find it.
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Everyone is in some sort of a long-distance relationship right now, and I’m no exception.
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Despite how much I love these shoes, they’ve never seen the light of day.
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When I got in to my dream art schools, though, I decided to give it all up for UC Berkeley — a decision I don’t know if I regret.
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Without fear, I finally see sex as what it is: not a big deal.
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I’m afraid to come out to people not just because I fear they won’t accept me, but because I’m afraid they won’t believe me.
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“Cool Girl” is no longer a defining compliment in my eyes. I’ve instead accepted it as a product of the male gaze.
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