it’s so strange to fall in love with someone you met in your dreams. to talk with her, flirt with her, make promises to her and have it feel so real that you come away convinced that she’s still out there somewhere. she slipped away on the morning mist and is now waking up miles away, bleary-eyed and yawning and yearning for the day when she’ll find you again.
the trans house – May 25, 2020
it was a small little house on the outskirts, nestled in a meadow. as i passed by it, i decided to clean it a bit, since i’d heard it was the target of some vandalism recently. one of the residents inside happened to notice me and came out to see what i was doing. i lit up, and she recognized that i was one of them, and she invited me inside for tea.
it was chilly that day, and they only had a space heater, but as i sat down it filled me with an incredible warmth. she and i got to talking, most notably about the rise in hatred recently. it used to be that they were relatively safe out here, but they had been noticed, and had been targeted pretty frequently. it turned out that quite a few people were living here, in one big polycule.
meanwhile, another resident woke up and walked in on us. she sat down. blonde, short hair, a bit boyish, and kept sneaking glances at me but when i’d look at her she’d get flustered. i started taking initiative and flirting with her a bit (since i’d found a bottom!), and the first person seemed to approve. like she was happy that we could make this kind of connection. the whole place felt like one big found family, and i felt like i wanted to be included in this family too.
aftermath
this has to be a place somewhere. the white vinyl siding, the sunroom with cheap plexiglass windows that didn’t insulate us from the early spring chill, the chintzy furniture. white-painted wood with flecks of paint peeling off.
she walked out into the living room half-asleep, wearing gray pajama clothes. i remember her becoming increasingly bashful the more she was around me, as it began to sink in to her that i was someone she wanted to have impressed.
she had to have been only a few months on hormones, if she even was on them.
and i remember her so clearly, yet at the same time, i don’t remember what the other person looked like. and i don’t think i remember her name, if she ever gave me one, either…
but i want to live here. i’d give anything to force this outcome, if only to prove some vague point to myself that there is some greater power in the world that’s still in play. i want to believe in a force called fate, who sets out premonitions for how my life will go. it’s not a denial of agency, since i’d still get to choose whether this is a place i want to be. but i’d finally have a place i want to be.