The first time I can honestly say I realized I was in love was the first time she called me by my prefered name. She knew me for a year, yet she corrected those who called me anything else, and insisted that I do the same.

The First time I knew I was head over heels in love was when she defended me against an onslaught of abuse from someone homophobic.

The first time I knew I would never be the same was when she held me for the first time as I fell asleep in her arms.

The first time I knew I was desperate was when I told my parents "But I love her too much to let her go." I knew I was on my own when they didn't even turn off the TV.

The first time I had my heart broken was when she introduced me to a new friend. She looked at him like she looked at me. He held her like she held me. She loved him like I loved her.

Hopelessly and Unconditionally.

Now we both are treading water, even though we have already drowned.

I have pushed myself back into the closet to try to make it hurt a little less, and now I find the space a little smaller because she's in here too.

We are both lying to ourselves to protect an image that no one cares about.

All the while an ever weaker pane of glass cracks between us, while we desperately scramble to patch it.

But I'm running out of strength and my hand is on the knob, one heart break away

from opening up the door.