I laugh along with her.

Because am I not a good friend,

If I don’t laugh at her jokes?

I agree with her.

Because who else will encourage her beliefs,

If not me?

-

I sit on the soft chair.

The air conditioner won’t quiet.

A quiet hum filling the tense air.

“What makes a belief right or wrong?”

Her eyes bore into me,

Studying me.

Like an animal, laid out for testing.

“I suppose that’s the thing about believes.

There’s no right or wrong.”

-

We sat on my bed,

Watching a show.

Why is it not as interesting as before?

I do not know.

Her hair is tangled.

She grabs the remote,

Turning the volume down a bit.

The door is closed,

Because why would mother worry?

Her daughter has a friend over.

A perfect, Christian friend.

I don not hate her for it.

How could I?

I hate myself,

For how I’ve started feeling.

-

Words spill easier today.

Like pouring the water from a kettle.

Boiling and bursting,

Ready to be seen.

“It’s not normal,

Is it?”

She doesn’t look at me,

But at her clipboard.

“Perhaps you should define normal,

Before you go about labeling things.”

Perhaps I should.

“But why must I feel this way?”

“Because you can’t be normal.”

Silence.

A breath.

Blink.

“Of course.

For how can one be normal,

When they have therapy sessions.

Not with a specialist,

But with the voice in their own head?”

“Of course.”

“I suppose my categories are created, then.

I suppose I do not fall under normal.”

“Of course.

But you could appear to.”

Appear to.

“But why would I appear to be normal,

If normal is not correct?”

“So she does not hate you,

Of course.”

“Of course.

Because who am I,

But the girl who can’t differentiate.

Between romantic and platonic love.”

-

I watch her talk.

Never speaking a word myself,

For fear of saying the wrong thing.

Perhaps I will never be normal.

But to her,

I can appear to be.