My first real girlfriend was

more in need of a therapist

than a partner, which somehow

took me too long to notice

despite knowing it all along.

I loved her beyond logic and

into an imaginary forever;

to be young and to feel the

touch of a girl who talks to you

whenever she can't sleep is to

feel like this is what being

grown must look like before

knowing what it is to be grown.

I think I am easier to love

in concept than in practice. No

one has done any scientific study

on the subject, but my anecdotal

proof is that I once fell in love with

a boy who touched me like I was

something holy from across an

ocean and when I came home he

no longer saw me, just a victim

coated in invisible scars. I think I am

difficult to love because my mother

once told me that living with me is

living in a minefield; she never

knows what is going to make me

blow up. There is no map to me,

I’m afraid, mama. I’m sorry.