You Must Be An Illusion (Can I See Through You?)

"Human interaction is fucked up".

I try to stay hopeful, I try to stay "beautiful". I try to take comfort in the fact that the words I write touch other people; there's a possibility that someone I've never met may remember me for the words I've left behind.

So what words have I left behind?

Human interaction is fucked up. I've told the man who took care of me he wasn't my father; he told me I was worthless. I've told the woman who created me she treats me as if she found me in a dumpster; she told me she could have abortioned me.

If I could collect every word in my life, I'd rearrange them into an apology. Or perhaps I'd rearrange them into "I love you".

A girl with a backpack, who carries around tissues with giraffes on them, who writes notes to strangers on the bus. The truth is, she is beautiful, I am not. What notes have I been giving out?

I want to take every word in my life and rearrange them into a house for you and me. To protect you, to keep you warm. I'd use my words for firewood (we'd burn "You're worthless", "I hate you", etc), we'd eat "I love you" soup every night. We'll pull blankets of "You're safe with me" over our heads. I'd stitch "I'm sorry" into all of your clothing. Every morning you'll bathe in "You're beautiful" (the soap "Have I ever told you that?").

That I could never utter a cross word again. That human interaction is fucked up, beautifully fucked up.

I know the truth in your words, now. And I am smiling.

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