I told Dorian about this blog today.
Well… not everything about it.
I just said, “Hey, I started a little blog—mostly to process dreams, feelings, and practice my journalism voice.”
Which isn’t untrue.
Just… not all the truth.
He lit up, of course. Asked if he could read it. Said he wanted to see what my “mind looks like in typewriter font.”
I laughed, then panicked internally, then gave him this very dramatic monologue about how this blog is like my personal diary and I needed to keep it private for now.
He pouted. Just a little. That soft, theatrical kind of pout that never really asks for anything, just expresses hope. But he respected it. Of course he did.
“You don’t have to show me,” he said. “Just promise if something’s heavy, you’ll talk to me. I’m always here, okay?”
God, I love how gentle he is. Always. He never pushes, even when he could. Never demands to be let in. Just opens his hands and waits.
He thinks I’m journaling because of school stress. Maybe some subconscious dream exploration. Something cute. Something quirky.
He doesn’t know it’s because my shadow has started moving faster than I do.
Because I wake up with words in my mouth I didn’t put there.
Because I need to write it all down before the I that’s writing disappears.
But still… when he said he’s always there, I believed him.
Even if I don’t say everything out loud.
Even if I’m scared the next time I look in the mirror, something will be staring back.
No comments:
Post a Comment