Confession

I feel like I have to start my conversations with "I have a confession". This shameful little secret. This nasty little game.

My friends are the easy part. The ones who see inside me say all the things. It's the others I worry about. The fauxs, the relics, the family. Oh god the family. Those ones who don't see me, who only see the things they think I should have been.

And it should be enough to say: I want to be happy.
I am figuring out how I can.
And I can't believe that I am the first one to change the game before the end. It can't be that this is all I am.

I don't feel brave, I don't feel wise, it's just this weight. Lifting. (The truth will set you free) or let them speak, let them stare, let them wonder how it came to be. Sometimes the hardest thing to do is to be honest. And that is all I am trying to do. To live an honest life. To hold an honest love. To find a moment that I won't have to push through. I have nothing but this feeling inside. This voice. This pulse that I am finally listening to.

I spent a night in love with New York. The dancing, the filth, the friends. The safety of the faces that know everything about who I was and nothing of where I have been.

But who says there aren't second chances. Third. Eighth.

Who put the quota on how many times you can change your mind or what fuck up is okay and what fuck up is too big to live through. Who told you that doing the best thing for you is anything but The.Best.Thing.

At night I close my eyes and it's the same soft light that it's always been. And I know now how my love should have always been.