going outside

A deliveryperson rang the bell at 7 am.  I was expecting them, but I rolled out of bed.

I signed the form and she was gone.  As I stepped outside, I couldn’t remember a more beautiful day.

 

I tiptoed down the step, down the walk, peered down the block and realized I’d worn two layers of clothing all year.  All spring, all summer.  But now I could feel the air on my skin.  I remembered how cool it could be in the morning, that it’s damp and smells like lawn.

I lost myself in this and rubbed my eye – a vague burning sensation from my undereye gel.

 

I had coffee on the step that morning.

 

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getting to she

I don’t know myself.  I don’t know where my center of gravity is.  My sense of touch threatens to overwhelm me.

 

I would say I’m in over my head, but that would be a metaphor, and an understatement.  This is what it is; I’ve begun to think to myself in female pronouns, she, her.

I’ve considered detransitioning, because that’s a thing now.  Here is different from there, is different from here.

 

“Nah.”

I’ll always be this way.  I hope that’s enough time to get to know her better.