...because Really, Sometimes The Irony

When I Dream, I Dream Of Him. For Several Nights Now He’s Come To Me, Waving From A Distant Shore As If He’s Been Waiting Patiently For Me To Arrive. He Doesn’t Utter A Word, But His Smile Says Everything: I’ve Missed You.

There's No Time To Be Modest. Reason Will Not Work Here. Without Warning, I Kiss Kartik. His Lips, Pressed Firmly Against Mine, Are A Surprise. They Are Warm, Light As Breath, Firm As The Give Of A Peach Against My Mouth. A Scent Like Scorched Cinnamon Hangs In The Air, But I'm Not Falling Into Any Vision. It's His Smell In Me. A Smell That Makes My Stomach Drop Through My Feet. A Smell That Pushes All Thought Out Of My Head And Replaces It With An Overpowering Hunger For More.

As A Kid, I Imagined Lots Of Different Scenarios For My Life. I Would Be An Astronaut. Maybe A Cartoonist. A Famous Explorer Or Rock Star. Never Once Did I See Myself Standing Under The Window Of A House Belonging To Some Druggie Named Carbine, Waiting For His Yard Gnome To Steal His Stash So I Could Get A Cab Back To A Cheap Motel Where My Friend, A Neurotic, Death-obsessed Dwarf, Was Waiting For Me So We Could Get On The Road To An Undefined Place And A Mysterious Dr. X, Who Would Cure Me Of Mad Cow Disease And Stop A Band Of Dark Energy From Destroying The Universe.

No, I Call. Come Back. I'm Here, He Says. But I Can't See. It's Too Bright. You Can't Hold Back The Light, Gemma. I'm Here. Trust Me.

We're Still Expected To Color Within The Lines Of Accepted Femininity, And Women Who Step Out Of Those Lines Are Usually Attacked, Whether Verbally Or Physically.