What defines me? What defines your love for me? I could not bear for you to look at me differently, with confusion or worse dread. I care for you so deeply, I care for your peace and comfort, for our morning cuddles, for our afternoon laughs and our evening debates. Will you think I am a monster? Will you leave me? All this goes through my mind daily as I stare at myself in the mirror or your eyes.

We sit facing each other, with laptops as barriers in between us. I anxiously check if you catch glimpses of me, if you can sense my tension, you cannot. I exhale loudly, you don’t budge as you continue to press your finger to your temple. I sigh, this time I catch your attention.

“You alright, dear?” You say, while your eyes still rest on your laptop screen.

“Mhm.” I back out. “Well, actually” I come back. “I wanted to talk to you,” our eyes finally meet, mine full of fear, yours half full of concern.

“Go on then, you’re so serious, you’re scaring me!” You exclaim with a nervous giggle.

“I haven’t been fully honest with you about who I am,” my voice cracking, “you know how I leave sometimes for days and I say it’s work?”

“What is it Lou? Are you fucking with me right now?” You’re nervous, you trying to joke, but I know you’re nervous, don’t worry I am shitting myself as well.

“Have you seen the news lately?” I struggle to find a way to introduce my actual self to you, so I try this. You look at me like I’m mental, which is fair, and nod your head yes. “Well, did you see last week there was a fire on 11th street and before the firefighters came someone evacuated the corner building?”

“Can you get to the point, Lou? Yes, I’ve seen it!” You say frustrated and annoyed, I know I’m blue balling you right now.

“It was me.” I say with all seriousness, close my mouth into a tight line and stare at you, you stare back and then burst out laughing.