But No One Ever Asked Me

If someone had asked me the best way to kiss a boy, I’d have laughed and suggested whiskey. Kissing is a strange act of habit, one that I don’t care to think too deeply about. That, and I always did just let the boys kiss me instead.

If someone had asked me what I thought of virginity, I’d have told them it’s not something to lose or surrender, that sex for the first time is better described as a debut. Make it into whatever you see fit, and it will be fine. No hellfire involved.

If someone had asked me what the perfect age is, to this day I probably would still say 17. So far, no one much agrees with me, but I can only assume that they didn’t spend that year meeting a soul mate or visiting a paradise that immediately felt like home. No year since has been an adventure.

If someone had asked me how a heart breaks, I’d have told them that it happens slowly. The moment of impact is not the most painful. A broken heart still beats, but what hurts is the blood coursing through its cracks, memories and smiles sticking and dying right there on the dagger.

If someone had asked me how to prioritize a life, I’d have sat them down and told them not to think about it. It takes tragedy to bring true priorities to the surface, and the longer that can be avoided, the better.

If someone had asked me to describe true loss, I’d have handed them a photo of my grandfather and asked them if they’d known sacrifice. True loss doesn’t visit, it comes to stay. It’s the voice in your head, swearing that you’d do anything in the damn world if it meant bringing them back.

If someone had asked me how it felt to be alive, I’d have told them it had been too long for me to recall.

If someone had asked me what my dreams were, I’d have told them I only have nightmares.

If someone had asked me what happened the happy little girl I used to be,  I’d have fallen silent anyway.

 

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