"Coming out of the closet."
It's a funny phrase. A very funny phrase, considering that I have never once in my life found myself in a closet.
Except the ever so popular figurative closet. The rainbow closet, if you must be so vague.
I told her today. I told my best friend that I loved her in a way that is far from normal. She didn't get mad. Her head did not blow up. She was not sad, angry, happy, relieved.
Best of all, she was not surprised.
It weirded her out - she said so honestly. I expected no less, wanted no more. I told her I liked her - loved her, is more near the truth. For the two years I've called myself her friend, I have loved her. I have gone out of my way, overcompensated - just to show her.
It was two years of throwing hints.
It took only 5 hours, her phone and mine, to tell her that I was and always have been a lesbian. A cold, cold word to describe anyone. I am a person. That is all.
Love, based on the individual not the gender, based on the soul and not the body, is what I seek.
She took it well. By mutual agreement, I am leaving her alone for a little more than 3 weeks. Twenty-four days, to be exact, which will bring us to my birthday. If I haven't spoken to her again by then, I will on that day.
And maybe, by some miracle, she'll be done with her boy.
Right now I'm deadlocked with destiny - in 24 days, everything will end, or everything will start anew.