Danielle Campoamor

A time both of us were once so relentlessly eager to leave behind.

It’s not because you have daddy issues or masochistic tendencies or lingering pains of an abusive childhood.

When the L word seems fleeting and the world seems to reject it and the unending blunderings of failed relationship after failed relationship seem to be all I recall, I remember: I’ve seen love. 

I’ll constantly crave a safe distance and crippled time and a policed speed.

Before you leave I want to stay attached to a couch and glued to a TV, growing a gaming controller as an extra appendage.

There are no preconceived notions or learned biases or complicated gender roles drowning cerebral cortexes. Whether toting a uterus or sporting a sack, a person is a person and a human is a human and a beating heart is a beating heart.

Suddenly, he feels a sharp and steady pain in his lower abdomen. It becomes more and more intense, to the point where calling an ambulance or a doctor or the surgeon general are valid options.

I’ll never tell her that I don’t forgive her.

Love should feel like the beginning of a pick up game. You beam with pride when you’re chosen and hold your head up high when you walk towards your captain and you cannot wait to get the game started. You’ve been practicing long enough.

What will go down as one of the most foolish decisions I have made in my twenty six years, I consciously passed up the opportunity to be the meat between two fine looking pieces of bread.

No matter how many faults you’re freed from the chains of misconstrued self responsibility have kept you in the blame.

Get off of me don’t touch me stop touching me. Stop. Touching. Me. Stop.