In the days that follow, it's movement, not stillness, that helps to keep the grief at bay.

How strange that something so simple could have been instrumental in my decision to ruin one of my most relationships and friendships, and damage another.

Shh,” I say. “Arms around me.” Obediently, he slips both arms around my waist. I smile at the wall. I am not enjoying this. I am not, not even a little bit, no.

No need to continually insist upon your unshakable masculinity.

I am a child. I am two feet tall, and asking if she loves me.

We may both be bad, but there’s a huge difference between us—I’m not content with being this way.

I need the protection of seeming weak.