They did not cease to matter, but that I no longer needed their mattering to hold its form, or mine.

I actually had the option of running down the stairs and out into the street, screaming. Yet when I actually considered doing so, I decided against it because I reasoned that it seemed highly unlikely to solve any problem that I was experiencing, and indeed appeared to risk creating more problems instead.

Queering was spoken like a ritual mispronounced, an invitation, not a memory of exile. It sounded smooth on tongues that had never bled for it. It was not fully understood that celebration belonged to those who had borne the bruise, not to those merely drawn to the glitter.