Crossing over is a slow and tenuous process with moments of connection and even longer moments of abysmal thought. The hardest part about crossing over is that nobody tells you when you are truly over. There are no lines with signs separating us by last name ranges, there is no ticket booth or will call. There is a moment that you have to simply recognize, the moment is when you say enough of this silly school girl shit. The moment is when you know exactly how and where to touch yourself to bring a sly smile to your lips. The moment is just the decision. Nobody is standing over your shoulder.
No comments:
Post a Comment