When we had our first “fight." But you see disagreements are not fights, yet you took my mouth as a cannon and all the words that came out as shots. I didn’t know it was a fight just to tell you that something bothered me. But let’s be honest, a lot of things about you bothered me.
When you told me my singing annoyed you. I danced around your living room singing the musical Wicked with your friends thinking that I was in a safe place to be myself, but even belting I found I had no voice. You had this special way of pulling me back and making me think I was less than I am, but little did you know I was right, I could defy gravity.
Every time we had sex it felt like I had to persuade you to sleep with me. As if pleasure became a chore and I was a checklist of tasks to complete and move on.
I'm sorry I always wanted to touch you, I was just taught love never lets go.
The first time I tried to explain to you my anxiety. I opened up about the irrationality of my mind and you looked at me like it was so simple. Everyone get's anxious, you told me, and never in a moment did I feel more crazy.
The moment I started to let go of God just to make room for you. But Jesus died for my sins, what did you ever do?
When I picked you up from LAX in prime traffic hour.
Then proceeded to make YOU dinner.
The fact that I'm already able to count to 10.
When you asked me how much we wanted to spend for each other on Christmas like our love had a price tag or quota and I agreed with you when you said $50. Apparently my love was only worth $50.
But I told you to save your money and just write me a love letter. Words meant more to me than any material gift I could ever receive. But instead you gave me random things, like a wine glass that fit an entire bottle as if you had to be drunk just to be with me.
You gave me a baby cactus and said it was "cute" and made you think of me.
Like I was something to be seen and not touched, an object to be placed on a shelf that didn't require much attention and to be left alone with its sharp edges. I reminded you of something that would hurt you if you touched it. That is not romantic.
When you left me on the side of a mountain in the midst of panic attack. Hands cold from a hole in my gloves, and fear struck so deep into my body as if it rooted itself into the snow. I couldn't breathe and you took off without me, only to appear an hour later acting as if nothing happened and I created the whole experience in my mind along with my anxiety.
The night you told me you loved me, and the moment I said I love you back.