Random crap I feel like writing that doesn't belong in anything in particular.

You melt into me like chocolate left out in the sun, collapse against me like I'm the only thing keeping you up. I barely remember your name. You don't even know mine. I doubt you'll ever know it. It's not that you won't ask, and it's not that I won't tell. I just won't tell you my real name. You can call me Tyler. Or you can call me Stella. I go by both of these names. But my birth name is one I rarely use anymore. It's just not relevant to who I am anymore.

You ask me why I use a boy's name and a girl's name. I tell you it doesn't matter and you nod, too tired to care. I put my arm around you, and hold you close, pulling a soft moan from your lips as you lie like a ragdoll in my grip. This is Tyler. Your angel. Your protector. The dependable one.

You ask me what I'm up to, or why I'm being quiet and the answer will almost always be "nothing" or "writing". But unless I'm writing, I'm usually lying. Instead of nothing, I'm wanting something. Someone to love me. For life to be a little easier. For people to let go of their fears and let me be who I want to be. You're scared of that, I can tell, scared of who I want to be.  This is Stella. Your author. Your fearful friend.

You push me away, you no longer need me. You never did. I disgust you, there's no other word for it. After all, how can I be? Neither a boy nor a girl inside my own head, though my body tells you I'm a girl. It's impossible, ridiculous, yet here I am.

Yes I'm different, but I'm not scary, or any more repulsive than any other human being. I'm just me.

So let me be me. Let me be Tyler, and Stella, at the same time. 


The End

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