Someone recently asked me if I've ever been in love. "Twice," I responded. I lied. It had been three times, but I don't like talking or even thinking, about the second time. [sitting down to write this, I realize I still can't talk about it.] Coming back to this weeks later, I've decided that that second time doesn't count. I was manipulated, and I can't say much else. I don't want to anyway. I am only coming back to this post to talk about my most recent journey towards love. I've always been the one to say it first, and recently, it's been refreshing to hear my partner say it to me. I was relieved, I had wanted to say it for a while, but was afraid it was too soon, I didn't want to scare them off. Hell, I was a little scared myself of how fast I had fallen for them, but it sure felt amazing. I'm a hopeless romantic, and also a hopeless R omantic. Maybe I'm just in love with being in love, but either way, I'm happy with my ...
The writings, poetry, and art of Morgan Rie, a queer & autistic young adult with an overzealous affinity for commas who is always looking for life's next challenge