Dear Pride,

You are the rainbows my friends point out, bright lights on rainy days.

You are the middle-aged woman speaking on a stage about loving her wife, the moment I realized I could have that too, that I could be her.

You are drag queens and colorful wigs and a trucker hat with a unicorn on it.

You are impulse that ends with me babbling into my best friend’s shoulder about how much I want to hold hands with a girl, kiss a girl, date a girl, marry a girl.

You are the daydreams of a life I might share with my wife one day.

You are flannels and snapbacks and beanies and baseball tees and pins.

You are reclamation of words used to hurt, finding beauty in what once brought pain.

You are peals of laughter at jokes you thought you wouldn’t be able to say.

You are dressing room confessions where fear twists your stomach in your fist before release.

You are giggles when a beautiful girl flirts and happiness floods your system like the moment you open your eyes after a cannonball into the blue.

You are mine to share and mine to keep, a kernel of light in my heart on even my darkest days.

You are freedom.