There was a pause. I was still scared by every gap in our conversation, fearing that this was it, the point where we had nothing left to say. I was still trying to impress you, and I still wanted to be impressed by you, so I could pass along pieces of your impressiveness to my friends, convincing myself this was possible.

It is much harder to lie to someone's face. But. It is also much harder to tell the truth to someone's face.

And maybe it is only by finding yourself that you can feel the true intensity of becoming close to another person.

We could call you an ambisexual. A duosexual. A—” “Do I really have to find a word for it?” Kyle interrupts. “Can’t it just be what it is?” “Of course,” I say, even though in the bigger world I’m not so sure. The world loves stupid labels. I wish we got to choose our own. We pause for a moment. I wonder if that’s all—if he just needed to say the truth and have it heard. But then Kyle looks at me with unsure eyes and says, “You see, I don’t know who I’m supposed to be.” “Nobody does,” I assure him.

I want you to be honest with me. Even if it hurts. Although I would prefer for it not to hurt.

I’ve found that people tend to trust other people who dress like them.

If other people see you differently, you’ll end up seeing them differently, too.