So yes, we could kiss. I could kiss you and you could kiss me. There’s no science, plane ticket or clock stopping us. But if we kiss, it will end the world. And I’ve ended the world before. No one survived. Least of all me.
When I love, I love: wholly, thoroughly, completely, drowning in everything. Every glance can be a conversation, eyes just playing and saying what needs to be said. Silence is loud, and the air becomes heavy. I want you. I want all of you.
Shout out to the mixed kids who never felt close to the cultures they come from. Shout out to the mixed kids who don’t know the native language(s) at all or fluently and get shamed for it. Shout out to the mixed kids who were never really immersed in their family culture(s) and their for don’t know anything or very little about where they come from. Shout out to the mixed kids who felt connected to one side of their culture than the other(s). Shout out to the mixed kids who get shamed for wearing or celebrating something unique to the culture(s) because they “don’t look like they’re from there/like that race”. Shout out to the mixed kids whose own family called them “fake”. Shout out to the mixed kids who never felt like they belonged.
Find what you love and let it kill you.
Let it drain you of your all. Let it cling onto your back and weigh you down into eventual nothingness.
Let it kill you and let it devour your remains.
For all things will kill you, both slowly and fastly, but it’s much better to be killed by a lover.
I’m unwilling to turn you into a sob story, but at the same time I refuse to make small what you did. Leave that to other people, for there will always be those who tell me that I’ve written too many words about this, spent too much time dwelling on it. But the huge fact that everyone ignores is that no one knows what it felt like to know and to be known by you the way I did.