Harden up, he said.
Fuck you, she said.
Because she never wanted to hear those words again. She had no intention of hardening up.
She being me, of course.
I never want to feel indifferent. About anything. Except cats. Everyone feels indifferent about cats.
We should feel indifferent to cats.
But about love and loss, goddammit, I’m going to feel as much as I can. And if that means weeping in movies, sobbing in the bath over a book, sobbing in the bath over a man, crying when I remember my first dog, or watching music videos over and over again, I’ll do it.
And yeah, you got it. I’m at home, on the couch, tears flowing down my cheeks. Prince.
I know why I loved him. Apart from being a musical genius and astonishing, he gave me words. Same as Bowie. They gave me, us, words for how we felt. When we couldn’t express them, they sang them for us.
They helped us to feel.
And getting feelings out there helps. It oddly brings a lightness.
So I’m going to be expressive. As expressive as I fucking want to be. And that’s about everything.
Caring shows life. And it shows love.
I care for this guy, even though he tells me to harden up.
So right now I am sending him the knife emoji. I’ve sent it five hundred times and I’m going to keep sending it until he responds to my mail.
I care dammit.
And I am not going to be scared to show it.