As I stand in front of Hannah’s door, my hand hesitates before falling short of knocking. My mind races, struggling to come up with something new to say. I spill out sappy words with no coherent meaning, flooding Hannah with flattery that only makes her nauseous. “I love you” echos with poetic undertones over dried ink on paper or during sweaty sex, but I struggle to love in action. My willpower is fragile, but my facade carries us through, as it always has. Illustrating her love in technicolor boosts the part of me she’ll never see. Deep down, Hannah will never know the depths of my fragility. I disguise the violence of insecurity with a contrived grin.
Twitter – @AC0040
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