Member-only story
Maybe
Maybe I knew, since before I could remember, that my love is taboo.
Maybe that’s why I looked at a budding relationship as some miracle, like it shouldn’t happen, like it should be secret.
Maybe that’s why I run from anything real that I could want from someone.
Maybe the idea of going somewhere where I can be accepted and my love is not taboo is what gets me excited about fresh starts. But nothing new ever happens.
Maybe my love for animals came from their inability to judge me and their unconditional love.
Maybe I think fondly of the career I never chose as an animal researcher who travels the world to help these non-judgmental, loving creatures because then I’d have a reason for why I can’t find love, or love that will come to something real.
Maybe that’s why I despise social media, makeup, and shallow gestures; they’re not real.
Maybe most people don’t crave the real because they don’t know how valuable it is to other people.
Maybe most people don’t crave the real because they are real.
Maybe I’m the fakest person I know, and I hate myself for it.
Maybe that’s why I cried after I broke up with my ex-boyfriend who sexually assaulted me and whom I never liked in the first place, because I will never have anything remotely close to a relationship again.
Maybe I get hurt so often in close friendships because I value them more, as something more, because it’s the closest thing I’ll get to something real.
I liked a girl back in first grade, the first of many, and that’s when the maybes began.
