writingsforwinter:

When my younger brother announces he wants to be a girl,

my mother dismisses it as a fad, just a phase, something akin

to bell bottom jeans or 80’s hair. But she doesn’t know

that every Friday night my brother pulls my dresses over his head

like soap bubbles and dances around the room

with a…

fuck,

writingsforwinter:

I don’t even remember your name now, but I do remember how

when we had sex it felt like holding a toothpick in my arms,

or how every time I tried to hug you, all I put my hands around

was open air. You were the missing color of the rainbow

that always bled its sadness like watercolors into the…

fuck

writingsforwinter:

I still drunk-text you even when I’m sober

and I still find your hair clogging the bathtub drain

but none of that compares to the shape

of your mouth on mine

and Noah would probably want 5,000 copies of you

on his ark, and God probably’d like to see you

in heaven, or wherever it is

that we go after this.