Orange popsicles The worst thing about depression, to me, was always how it could make the most beautiful things seem so dull.
Weeks come and go without leaving a trace. Months would flow together into one big blur of nothingness. Some days of my teenage years I can remember more clearly, others are lost to me forever.
What I do remember and always will is you.
Being fifteen, first tastes of freedom, taking you out for lunch. The waiter brings me the bill as we eat our dessert. Everyone around us knows what we are, we just havenāt caught up quite yet.
Being sixteen, holding hands when my parents arenāt looking. The city is brutal for people like us, but we walk through the bustling mall anyway, close but at a distance.
Being seventeen, gentle orange popsicle kisses making up for our first. You were the first girl I had ever kissed that way, back when we both were still girls.
Being eighteen, cold in the middle of August, wondering how youāre holding up. The pandemic hadnāt been what made us drift apart, but it didnāt help either.
Being nineteen, still starving, angry at you. I guess a part of me had still felt entitled to you in some way. There were other men now, boys I would secretly curse for having everything I couldnāt have; a body that fit them, you.
Being twenty, weāve finally made it to the concert weāve been talking about since Highschool. You remember the words and I remember teaching you. The music is loud, but the memories are louder. Kisses on the cheek and āI love youās escaping our mouths. Youāre happy now, with him, and thatās all that matters to me.
We started out as the only two queers at a small town public school, always judged, but never harmed. We grew up to be so much more than that and it cost its price. If I could go back, knowing what I know, I would always do it again.
We were just two girls trying to figure out where to go and while weāre not there yet, I think we finally found our ways.
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