#HumanToo

Seeing all the fuss didn't surprise me too much. If I've learned anything by being part of-or maybe I should say on the edge of- Shelly De Luca’s Little Wonders, it’s how dedicated fandoms can be. But, what does surprise me is how cutthroat some of the so called ’ fans’ can be. I have always been utterly baffled and bemused by the sheer Hut of the pedestal Shelly seems to be placed on. But this?! This really takes the cake.

 

After becoming a star online, Shelly is starting to break into the world of the silver screen. Her latest role but is as a character who happens to be a member of the LGBTQIA+ community. Shelly, as far as I'm aware, is not a member of the LGBTQIA+ community, and apparently some of her ‘Little Wonders’ have a problem with that. Now I'm going to pause here to preface that what's to follow may be yeah distressing to some in the community. Continue watching with caution and please, please take care of yourself

 

I am struggling to see where the problem actually lies as far as Shelly bringing this character to life… Assuming Shelly does her homework, which I’ve no doubt she would, and portrays the character as authentically as she can, is that harming anyone? I understand creating space and opportunities for people in certain communities to play characters who are also part of that community, but here's the most important question of all- who said Shelly isn't part of the LGBTQIA+ community? Just because she hasn't said it doesn't I mean it isn't true.

 

Except, according to this small group of Little Wonders, Shelly does need to actually say it, whether she wants to or not. That is where my problem lies and it's also what baffles me the most. Firstly, how can you go from lifting someone up to the high heavens, hailing them like some kind of God, to this kind of appalling behaviour? Behaviour which may be described by no word other than; bullying. And how could anybody, with a shred of their humanity intact, treat a fellow human this way? Trying to pressure-fully prise such personal and private information out into the public with apparently no regard for the person or their wishes? And for what? To ensure authentic representation? Whether she is or isn't part of the LGBTQIA+ community is Shelly's business. 

 

Because here's the thing; no matter how high the pedestal she is placed upon. No matter how many people know her name or how many fans she has, underneath it all, just like you and me, and everyone else, Shelly is a human. She is a #humantoo. And just like all of us, she deserves respect and dignity. Not only does she deserves these things, but she also has a right to her privacy. Especially with such personal information as what is being demanded from her. 

 

So now, let me ask you this; if the situation were reversed, how would you like it? How would you like it if you were being made to share such personal things with the world? Things which you may still have been trying to make sense of for yourself? Things which might have been scary to tell people who know and love you, let alone complete strangers? You wouldn't like it, would you?  So why do it to someone else? Apart from the inhumaneness of it, and the disrespect and denial of dignity, demanding that kind of information is not something that anyone has the right to do.

 

Aspects of our identities are ours, and ours alone. And they are also ours to share, if, when and with whom we want to. not because other people are demanding it end not when others decide. We don't owe it to anyone to outwardly identify, share or disclose anything. Because we are all #humantoo.

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This story was inspired by the awful treatment of Kit Connor, who was pressured to come out following his starring role in Heartstopper. 

Check out this video by Rown Ellis for a thoughtful and thought provoking discussion on queer baiting and queer speculation, including the harms it can have.  

If you are affected by any of this- what's discussed in Rowan's video, the story or what's happened with Kit, I want to strongly encourage you to reach out for extra support. There's QLife in Australia, the LGBTQIA Resource Center's directory to find support in America and the ILGA directory to help you find support in Europe and Asia. 

I'd also recommend Heartstopper as an (in some ways ironic) antidote to these kinds of yucky phenomenon. 

The Man From The Stories

Content Warning: allusion to themes of rape and sexual abuse. Please take care if you may be impacted and choose to read on.

Your Dad is like your guardian angel, always with you and watching on. It was a comforting thought, reinforced as the ending of the bedtime story she'd grown up hearing almost every night. Ashlea liked the idea of having her father there and with her, the way he could be. It wasn't really a consolation for the fact she hadn't had a chance to know him properly-he'd died before she was born- but it was still something, and for that, Ashlea was grateful. 

The story of her parents, was another sleepy favourite. But this was one her Aunty Lea tended to tell, rather than her mum. "I'm not sure I've ever seen two people so in love as your parents," she'd say. "It's almost like their story was lifted from a book. Like the two of them were made for each other. Your Dad loved to surf, and your mother loved creating with the shells on the beach." 

"But she can't stand the beach now," Ashlea had said the first time she'd heard the story. "I only go with you."

"Because there was an accident while he was surfing," Aunty Lea had explained. "That's why your Dad isn't alive. Why you've never had the chance to meet him and why he never had a chance to know you." 

Ashlea had pouted, on the edge of tears, but unsure whether she could cry over someone she knew only through stories.    

Ashlea distinctly remembered the way her Aunt had brushed her fingers against her cheek before saying, "he would have loved you." 

"How do you know that?" 

"Because I got to know him," Aunty Lea had said. "And I can see his best qualities reflected in you." 

"I wish I'd met him," Ashlea had said sadly.  

"I wish he'd met you," Aunty Lea had said. "I know your mother does too." 

What Ashlea hadn't realised was how much her mother had wished about her father. Like definite assurance he was really her dad. 

"There's a tiny chance that he's not," her Aunty Lea had told her the truth not too long ago, looking, and sounding, a little like she wanted to throw up. Beside her, Ashlea's mother had just cried silently.  

"What?" The admission had been a blow that made Ashlea feel like her  world was imploding completely. 

"I.." Ashlea's mother tried to start, but was barely able to get the one word out. 

Lea had rested a hand on her sister's knee. "It's ok, Sarah." 

Resting her free hand on her niece's knee, she'd held Ashlea's gaze. "Your mother... you.... well, it wasn't the nicest start." 

Ashlea gasped, her mouth seemingly stuck in an 'o' formation. 

"But I am so glad that I have you, Ashy." Sarah spoke up finally. 

"We both are." 

"So why..." 

"Because he was my greatest love," Sarah answered. "I want it to be him. It's a nicer thought, and I wanted to let what happened... I wanted to let it go and move on. Build my life, with you." 

"Plus, you're very much like him anyway." 

Sarah nodded emphatically. "You have all his best qualities, and I feel like he lives on, in you." 

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More of Ashlea's story is featured in Cam & Goldie, a longer story now fully up on Wattpad here. 

Her Ghost

 Just out of the corner of my eye, I could see her. Almost. She's there, but she's also not. Like some kind of mirage. Or a trick my mind is playing on me. I don't like to admit it, but I know that really, that's what it is. She's not around anymore. Whenever I think I see her, she's a translucent ghost. Whenever I think I hear her,  it's a faint whisper on the wind. I reach out, wanting to grab her before she can disappear. But my hand hits nothing more than thin air. Because she was never there. Well, not anytime recently anyway. 

It really wasn't all that long ago that she had been there. Then, without warning, she'd gone without warning. She disappeared, but not without a trace. Because I'm still here. Left behind. Left alone. I crumple to my knees on the ground, my heart squeezed to within an inch of itself and shattered as if it were a precious ornament she carelessly dropped on her way out. The searing pain makes me want to cry out, but what's the use? The howling of the trees would only drown it out, and there's no one else around to hear me anyway. 

A figure lurking in the shadows. A distant echo. No matter what form it takes, her ghost still haunts me. Because she's gone, but she's not. No, because she is, arguably, the worst kind of ghost. Her ghost is the kind born from a different kind of leaving life. Not leaving life all together. No, just me. She chose to leave my life, and in so doing, became something of a personal ghost instead. 

Somewhere, she's still out there. Still breathing. Heart beating. Living a life. Sometimes, I wonder what she's doing, where she is, how she is. Sometimes, I wish she wasn't a ghost. That she was still around and in my life. Having a ghost isn't always the greatest. Especially her kind of ghost. The wondering and the wishing can be piercingly painful. Like my heart is getting squeezed and shattered all over again. 

But other times, her ghost isn't so bad. When her ghost is haloed by the sunlight beaming down, more than just her ghost is illuminated. Happy memories of good times shared together, lessons she taught me that I carry with me still. In the shadows, her ghost haunts me, but when her ghost steps out into the light, I remember.  

Part

One glance was enough to understand why no one stayed longer. Not only was her appearance off-putting, it made her seem out of place too. Had her plane from some other Halloween themed world crash landed, stranding her here? That was the story going around, but no one knew if it was the truth. That would have required not only approaching her, but interacting with her. Something none of the townspeople seemed game enough to do. 

"I'm not a psycho..." she'd try, but her whispers fell on deaf ears. The townspeople had made up their minds, and they didn't want anything tainting their version of her story. 

"But it's my story," she cried to herself, alone in her little house on the edge of town. "Shouldn't I get to decide it? If they'd give me a chance, they'd see." She sighed, looking out the window at the flowers growing. The flowers knew, even if no one else did. The flowers knew. That's why they bloomed for her and only her. 

The townspeople felt the flowers' selective blooming made her a witch. And definitely a bad witch, judging by her looks alone. Because that was all they allowed themselves to see. Her looks were enough, according to the townspeople. More than enough. 

Sometimes, she watched the children play from the safety of her home. She knew they'd run away if they saw her. She didn't want to make anyone cry. The last things she wanted was to scare anyone. But she liked the children. It wasn't their fault they feared her. It was the stories their young minds had been fed that fuelled the fear they felt. It wasn't their fault. 

But it did make her wish. That she could be part of things like that, rather than spectating from the sidelines. Maybe one day, someone would stop long enough to look part her exterior and really see her. Maybe one day, someone would take a chance on her. Then, her wish would come true. She'd be part of it. Could it be you?

The Siren's Sanctuary

 The darkness had ceased to exist. Because that was all there was now. Black. The perfect canvas for mind demons to run wild, and to rule. All that is left now is that small, voice that whispers in your ear. Part of you knows it means you harm. But that's only part of you. A very small part. 

That voice is a siren. Dangerous, yes, but also irresistibly alluring. The siren is just speaking the truth, after all. It's not telling you anything new. Only what you already know. Black is all there is now. Dark. But the dark, and the shadows, are a comfort. Because they allow you a place to hide. It feels safer in the dark, even if it is cold as ice. 

You don't want colour anymore. The colours are too bright. So bright, they seem sure not just to blind, but to burn as well. Here in the black, the concrete cold numbs any pain you might've felt otherwise. Pain you know well. You've felt it before, and you have no desire to revisit those sharp, stinging sensations again. 

The longer you stay in this blackness, the quieter the siren seems to become. Until the siren falls silent completely. The lack of noise... the absence of the siren's whisperings, are not things you're used to. It's a little disorientating to begin with, but you soon grow used to it. Even come to relish it. The siren doesn't say anything anymore because they don't need to. You've willingly joined their cool dark sanctuary, and it has become yours too. Your cool, dark, solitary and silent sanctuary.  

Under...Stand

 Though the air was icy, it was the soothing kind of cold rather than the kind that felt painful. She was grateful for that. Everyone around her seemed to be experiencing the painful kind of cold. The soothing cold allowed her to help her loved ones struggling through pain. "It's ok," she'd say. "I can take it. I can handle it." And she could. Until all of a sudden (or so it would seem), she couldn't. Because all of a sudden, she'd fallen under too. 

She started to tremble as the weight on her shoulders grew. She looked around, hoping the same support she'd given out may now be repaid. But alas, those who would normally help in return seemed to have disappeared. Others around those struggling seemed completely blind and apparently oblivious to the struggle. As if it wasn't going on at all.

Or, did those others around her think she could handle it just fine? Because she always did? Or was that just how it looked from the outside? How it seemed? Sure, she might have buckled and bent over backwards sometimes. But she didn't break. Right? At that question, she wanted to scream, or at the very least, raise an eyebrow. How could they know that? How could they be sure? Because behind closed doors, beneath the surface, hiding inside, she had started to break. 

Inside, she was breaking. And no one seemed to notice. If they did, she had to wonder if they cared. Because no one was doing anything. Unless she were mistaken, it seemed they felt it was ok for her to fall. Maybe, they needed her to fall. Maybe, the sound of her crashing would snap them out of whatever was distracting them. Maybe then, their eyes would be opened and they'd see. 

Or maybe, just maybe, they'd fallen too. Maybe, everyone was succumbing to the cold, the same way as those before her. The same as she had. If that was the case, couldn't they all support each other? Stand together? Maybe struggling and shaky, but standing nonetheless? 

A rush of cool air hit her as she something, or rather someone, someones, either side of her to help support her standing. The people she'd longed for had reappeared to stand by her, soft smiles on their faces. I'm here. I see you, they seemed to say. I've got you. 

She slipped an arm around each of them, unable to help but smile back. "And I've got you."     

It Will Be...

For such three small words, there were a vast array of reactions; 

vigorous head shaking; 

"... but..."

"... no it won't"; 

"... but... it's anything but.." 

The ending you were actually going for was; …ok. So the sentence as a whole read; It will be ok.  

"But it won't be," she says again, tears trailing the well worn track from her eyes. "it's anything but." 

"I know," you say. "I know it feels that way." 

"It feels that way..." You can't help tensing at the way their voice grows louder with each word. "It feels that way because that's the way it is." 

You take a breath, mustering every ounce of patience you can find. "Right now." You pause for another breath. "But it might not always be that way. Do you think that just maybe, sometime soon, it might just be ok?" 

She shrugs. It's not complete acceptance, but it's not flat out refusal either. It's something in between. It's something, and you'll take it. 

"I think that it will be," I say. "I think that it will be ok." 

This Little World, All Our Own

My hand sits outstretched in the space between us. I wish it was in theirs. Touched. Held close. But that's too great a risk. 

I'd like to be able to sit beside them and cuddle up tight. Lean in against them. Maybe have their head on my shoulder. Together. Closer. But that's a risk too. 

The only choice I seem to have, the  furthest I feel I can go, is to allow myself to get lost in the peridot green of their eyes, and their eyes in mine. Even that feels like a risk. But it's a risk we take. We can't take a step further. That's too much of a risk. But this, this we can do. To have no connection at all hurts too much. Even this feels painful. But we settle, because it's what we have. 

On the seat across from me, my beautiful partner sighs. I focus again on their eyes and scan them. Seeing me see them, a small smile cracks their straight lined lips. We both know. We both wish. I feel a renewed ache spread through my arm toward the arm outstretched on the seat between us and sigh in unified sympathy and sorrow.  

Stealing a glance at the driver in the front seat, my partner inhales, shaky but deep. Slowly but surely, their fingers inch their way toward mine. They settle their hand mere metres from mine. Close but not quite close enough. 

Our eyes lock on each other's again. There is a slither of comfort in our shared fantasy; a space that's just us. A world all our own. A place where we can get close without fear of judgement. Where we can be together without feeling any tension. A place where we get to be us. Really, truly us. 

My beautiful partner is this place, and I know I am theirs. Alone, together, we are there. Accompanied, together, like now, we imagine ourselves there. Always, we share and hold the daydream together. This wonderful space where there is no risk, no judgement and no tension. We also hold on to our silly little hope that one day, this will just be the world. Where anyone can be, no matter who they are, no matter who they love. People are just people, after all. And love is love. I know this, and they know this. All too well. There are many out there like us, who all know just as well as we do. But, there are others who have no idea. Those others are why my partner and I have this little world, all our own. This little world, all our own, that we can go to whenever we'd like. This little world, all our own, where we can just be. This little world, all our own, where we are free.   

One In A Million

 Taking in the sight of my beautiful, sweet friend, pale and weak in bed, I shake my head. "I was kinda afraid something like this would happen." 

"Huh?" My friend's voice emerges in a weak whisper from her lips. The only reason I can catch it is because of the otherwise pin drop quiet of the room. "What do you mean?" 

I cross the space between us to sit on the edge of her bed as she slowly shifts to a seated position. "Well, you give and give and give Maria." 

She opens her mouth to speak, but I keep going before she has the chance. 

"You can't keep giving to others unless there are others giving back to you as well." 

Tension tightens my chest as tears well in Maria's eyes. "How'd you know?" 

"You're always so selfless; reaching out, connecting, checking on everyone. But then, you kind of stopped. You withdrew into yourself." 

"I was selfish." Maria summed. 

Without so much as a split second's pause, I shake my head emphatically. "No. You are anything but selfish Maria." 

She stares at me, seeming a little lost for words. 

  "It's ok to turn the attention on yourself. It's important, and sometimes, it's needed." 

"Really?" 

"Yes. You know how I said that you can't give out to others unless others are giving out to you?" 

She nods. "Well, you were giving out to yourself. No one else was giving to you when you desperately needed it, so you turned in and you gave to yourself." 

The tears that had appeared in Maria's eyes start to fall. "No one seems to notice. No one checks in and reaches out the way I do with everyone else." 

"I know." I reach out to brush her arm with my fingers. "I'm sorry. I could've been a better friend to you. The way you are for everyone else. You deserve that, Maria. You are more deserving than anyone I know." I pause, feeling my breath start to catch on the lump forming in my throat. The lump of sobs wanting to rise, then fall along with Maria's. Determinedly, I swallow hard and take her hand in mine instead, squeezing gently. "I will." I promise her. "At least, I'll try. I'll try to be just as good a friend as you always are." Silence falls between us, my words hanging in the air. 

"Because you are not a problem to be solved, Maria, despite what you may've been told." I keep going after a few minutes, surprising even myself. But every word feels right. Like something that desperately needs to be said. That desperately needs to be heard. So I push on. "You are one of the kindest, most caring and compassionate, most beautiful souls there are out there. You are one of the most special people to exist..." I stop at the expression on her face. "And I mean that in the best way," I add, causing her to relax. "You are a diamond among coal, Maria. You are truly one in a million." 

I stop again, a little for breath, but also because I want what I say next to stand out, and to stick. "Never ever for one moment think you are anything less than an absolute gift and a blessing."    

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This story continues the Bleeding Heart collection, which starts here. 

Snow

It was as if her jaw was stuck, it had been hanging open for so long. Because the sight in front of her, what she had witnessed a few times now, still did not cease to amaze her, even though it appeared to be the way, in fact the very nature, of the small, furry creature she had acquired. 

Chris had known from the time she'd set eyes on the tuxedo cat that they were one. The sweet black and white cat seemed to have a heart made of pure, solid gold. Back at the shelter, the cat she'd adopted had been glued to the side of another, who, when Taylor looked closer, seemed a bit miserable. Her tuxedo cat had gone between the cats who appeared the saddest, brushing up close against them and sometimes licking them if they'd allow it, until the other cats appeared a little happier. It was as if these other cats each had their own personal storm cloud bucketing rain down upon them. Then, Chris's tuxedo cat had come along, like a little way of sunshine to brighten their day and provide a little reprieve from the rain. Chris had immediately been captivated. The impact seemed profound; each of the others her tuxedo cat had touched was somewhat changed by the presence, companionship and comfort the little tuxedo cat provided. Their moods were lifted, their spirits made brighter, their day just that little bit better. 

Upon arriving home, Chris's cat had gravitated straight toward her unwell and understandably grumpy grandfather. His demeanour remained, as if Chris's grandfather was determined to stay mad and grumpy. As if he preferred it. As if it were better. But, the little tuxedo cat also remained in position, perched on one arm of his lounge chair. 

Disgust and disapproval in his eyes, Chris's grandfather slowly looked up to meet her gaze. "What'd you bring this thing home for then?" He eyed the cat. 

"I thought you might be able to use a companion," Chris ventured carefully. 

Her grandfather 'hmmphed'. 

"And I thought that maybe, I might benefit from a friend." 

His gaze softened, just a slight fraction. His 'mmm' carried with it a very tiny hint at approval. 

Chris's attention returned to her new feline friend, still perched on the arm of her grandfather's chair. Her cat's gaze was on him, gentle and unthreatening. Chris's cat seemed to recognise there had been a crack in the older man's resolve, and this was the perfect chance to pounce. Slow and steady, paws padded closer until smooth, soft fur met wrinkly skin. 

Suddenly, Chris's grandfather seemed to snap out of the spell their new friend had momentarily cast him under and leaned back and away from the cat. His eyes found his granddaughter's. Chris searched them to find something of the cat's spell had remained. Though her grandfather still seemed stiff, his resolve, and demeanour with it, had softened some. 

Chris couldn't help smiling, just a little. "See? I told you it'd be good for you." 

"Has it got a name?" 

"Not yet." 

"Boy or girl?" 

"Dunno." 

Chris held her breath while her grandfather thought. It took great strength for her to maintain the tiny smile on her face while she watched her grandfather absentmindedly reach out to touch her cat, who moved back and forth beneath his hand to facilitate a pat. 

It was only when Chris and her grandfather awoke and wandered through the house the following morning that she thought of a name for their new companion. A little of her grandfather's grumpiness had returned at the sight of the state their house had been left in. 

"The cat found the tissues," he observed, voice rough with disdain. 

Chris wanted to laugh. On the floor were countless tiny fragments of tissues, scattered everywhere. A smile did crack her lips as her cat appeared before them. "Snow."  

Like Me

 The young child's face crumpled with confusion. They tipped their head slightly to the side and narrowed their gaze. Maybe it would make more sense if they focused in? Maybe not too, the child decided, straightening again as they shook their head. "I don't understand." Their small voice emerged in a whisper. "I just don't get it. "   

"Understand what?" The child's mother lowered herself into a equation order to meet their eyes at the same level. 

The child pointed, a disapproving scowl forming on their lips. 

She followed their finger. The screen to which her child was pointing was set to the news, which was covering a story about someone getting abused. 

"They like rainbows," her young child observed. She noticed the rainbow flag the person wore draped across their shoulders and her understanding set in. 

"Likely." Their mother answered. "They might also be part of the LGBTIQA+ community, Sam." 

Sam stared back at their mother for a while. "L, G, B, T...." They started to spell out, taking care with each letter. "Q, I, A, plus. That's a lot of letters!" 

Sam's mother couldn't help her laughter. "It is, but they all mean something." 

"What do they mean?" Sam's eyes sparkled with inquiry. 

With a small smile, Sam's mother explained each letter, one by one. "... and the plus is to represent other letters that aren't there or that come to mean something to the community." 

"I still don't understand." Sam said after a long while spent deep in thought. They pointed again. "Why are they getting hurt? Is it because they might be part of the LGB..." Sam stopped, starting to trip over the letters. The order was getting a little muddled in their brain. Sam took a breath, setting their jaw. "TQIA+ community?" 

Sam's mother sighed. "Yeah, that's likely." 

"But why?" Sam asked again. "I don't understand. They're kinda like me." 

Sam's father's brows danced as he caught the end of Sam's statement. 

"What do you mean?" Sam's mother asked. "Kinda like you?" 

Sam smiled bigger. "Well," they shook their head as they laughed. The answer seemed obvious! "I'm alive, they're alive." 

Sam's parents tensed slightly, though Sam didn't notice. 

"Also, they're a person, and I'm a person too!" Sam's grin grew bigger still. Their laughter was contagious, and Sam's parents couldn't help joining in, their tension at the possibilities of that person who'd been abused starting to ease. 

"That's very true, Sam." Their father said. "We are all people, we're all human." 

"So why..." Sam started to ask. 

Sam's parents said nothing for a time. They glanced at each other, then back at their inquisitive and kind hearted child. 

"There's really no good answer for that Sam," their father answered. 

"Some people are really mean and awful," Sam's mother continued. "Sometimes because they're hurting themselves, but other times, there's no good reason at all." 

Sam shook their head. "People shouldn't be mean." 

"No, they shouldn't." Sam's mother agreed. 

 "It's not nice to be not nice." 

"No, it's not." Sam's father affirmed. 

Sam's father took their hand in his. "It doesn't matter who else someone likes, what colour their skin might be, what religion they believe in, what abilities they might have, or anything else." 

Everyone deserves to be treated nicely." Sam's mother finished, taking Sam's spare hand with one of her own. "Do you know why?" She looked back at Sam. 

"Because..." Sam stopped, thinking. "Because we're all people. They're like me." 

"And me." Their mother squeezed Sam's hand. 

"And me." Sam's father said. "There are ways we might be different, but what counts is that there are also ways we're all the same."   

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Rainbow friends; today and every day, I stand with you. ❤️🧡💛💚💙💜🤍🤎🖤 

For a list of terms relevant to the LGBTIQA+ community, head here. You can find more general information here.  And for LGBTQIA+ specific support, there's QLife in Australia, the LGBTQIA Resource Center's directory to find support in America and the ILGA directory to help you find support in Europe and Asia. 

You Know This… Right?

Devi couldn’t help but chuckle as she settled into her chair in front of the webcam. “So, there’s something I’ve realised.” She began. “It would seem I’m best at pouring my heart out in front of a camera as opposed to directly in front of you, in person, to your face. In that original video, I didn’t have an option. But now, I do have a choice, and I’m still here, coming to you from a screen. Maybe it’s cause this feels important, just like last time, and I want to make sure I get this across right. Maybe it’s cause doing it this way, I can have as many takes as I need.” She stopped for breath. 

“So, like I said, this feels important. It’s kind of an ‘I want you to know’…” Devi held her fingers up to air quote the last part. “Except, it’s also a bit ‘you know… right?’” She couldn’t help laughing again. “No pressure.” 

At all… Devi imagined one of her friends finishing, and struggled to keep a straight face. Until, a second later, a grin cracked her straight lips. “Alright, alright. Let me put y’all out of your misery.” She says, pretending she’d meant it all along. 

“I know I can be kinda intense sometimes. I’m an ‘all in’ type o’ gal.” The smile stays fixed on Devi’s face, while inside, she feels like hyperventilating. This was important, and it felt like there was tons of pressure. 

“But what I want you to know… what I want to make sure you know, is that it’s because of how deep my love and care for all of you goes. Because of everything I said in that last video, and everything I wrote in the envelopes.” Devi felt her shoulders drop a fraction as a little tension was eased with the memory of the first video and the individualised envelopes that had gone with it. “That’s a good example of the intensity I’m talking about. But also the depth.” Devi sighed, the anxieties that had been buried below starting to rise to the surface. “The intensity is because of the depth. Maybe I care and love too much, if that’s possible? I don’t know. The point is that there is an abundance of love and care. Like, way more than I can figure out how to quantify. What can I say, y’all are important to me. Like, really important.” 

Whether the laughter had something to do with hysteria or was more something of an attempt to ease more tension that had built back up, or maybe it was a mixture of both? “More of the intensity I was talking about…” she tells the camera, and her friends. “I know that could be a bit… confronting sometimes, which is why I wanted to make sure you know kinda where it comes from. It’s all outta a whole lot o’ love, and care, but mostly love. Purely platonic love that is.” Devi started to ramble before taking a breath to help rein herself back in. “But love all the same.” 

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This story follows on from I Want You To Know, which you can read here. 

When I Close My Eyes

When I close my eyes, it's just like it used to be. Like nothing has changed. When I close my eyes, it's like you never left at all. Because when I close my eyes, you are right there. Whenever I close my eyes, you're still here with me. 

Here, we're together, in our own little world. Just you and me. You take me in your arms and we sway in time with a silent song. I am lost in your eyes, not able to bring myself to look away for fear you'll somehow fade away. I don't want to let go of your hand for fear you might slip through my fingers and disappear completely, well beyond .  

Here, in this little world of ours, the rest of the world seems to melt away until it's just the two of us. 

We dance, just like we always used to. My eyes are closed, but here, it feels like we're dancing among the clouds. We're way up high, where nothing can touch us and no one can get to us.    

It's so easy to fool myself into thinking it's real. It feels real. I'd like it to be. So it is with great sadness that I open my eyes and real returns. But, I know that still, you are right there, just out of my reach. Even if it's only for a song, you are always there, waiting for me in the world of my dreams. Whenever I close my eyes. 

The Curse of a Bleeding Heart

 The biggest problem with being a bleeding heart is when my heart bleeds. When it bleeds and there’s nothing I can do about it. I feel the pain of others as acutely and deeply as if it were my own. As if what’s happening is happening to me rather than someone else.

 

One sure fire way to know you’re super special to me is if my heart starts to bleed after you’ve told me about a big pain or struggle you’re experiencing. I mean, you’re not going to actually see it, but you’ll probably still be able to tell. I’ll likely just start crying. Next, I’ll want to know what I can do. Then, finally, I’ll rack my brains trying to figure out how to solve the issue that’s caused you, my dear friend, so much anguish. Not because I want to try to turn off your feelings like the flick of a switch or shut them off like a tap. I know all too well it doesn’t work that way. 

No. I react the way I do because my heart breaks to see you so upset. It hurts so much that I want to rip off the culprit’s head, jump down their throat and scream bloody murder at them all at once. It’s like showing red to a bull. How dare they hurt someone so dear to me? There has to be consequences for what they’ve done. They have to know… No more than know, they need to feel the terrible pain they have inflicted on you. Because they obviously have no idea, otherwise they would never do what they did, because they wouldn't just be aware of the consequences of their actions, they would truly understand the impact of those actions. Given that understanding, maybe they would act differently.

You know I would usually never harm even a fly. But mess with someone important to me? Well then, heaven help you, because I am bound to get pretty fierce. Mess with someone important to me at your own risk and be assured that if you do, you will feel my fiery wrath. 

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This story follows on from How Do You Solve A Problem and Wish, which you can read here and here