“There’s a form of mental torture called “gaslighting,” its name taken from a play in which a man convinces his wife that the gas lights in their home she sees brightening and dimming are, in fact, maintaining a steady glow. His ultimate goal is to drive his her into a mental institution and take all her money, and soon the woman ends up in an argument with herself about whether she’s losing her mind. American race relations have a similar narrative: An entire set of minorities confident that the everyday slights they’re seeing are real and hurtful, and an entire set of other people assuring them that they’re wrong.
“You’re not abnormal, quite the opposite, you seem to be a painfully normal person who has found themselves at a very difficult crossroads. Neither is your life abnormal, perhaps you may feel so in it’s details, but our pains are relative. Your struggle with identity is not so vastly different than the struggles of many other people; who am I, why am I here, what is my purpose, why was I made this way instead of that, what do I do, where do I go now? In that respect, no one can tell you the answer.
When I was trying to quit smoking
and we drank white wine from Mason jars,
you called my freckles cocoa powder
and I called your green eyes
I am learning how to be a grown-up
who pays bills, cooks her own meals,
and doesn’t cry at words like
I think I just want to be friends.
The truth is this:
Love is an organic thing.
It rots and softens.
“Everyone who terrifies you is sixty-five percent water.
And everyone you love is made of stardust, and I know sometimes you cannot even breathe deeply, and the night sky is no home,
and you have cried yourself to sleep enough times that you are down to your last two percent, but
nothing is infinite,
not even loss.
You are made of the sea and the stars, and one day
you are going to find yourself again.