My home is a home because of many things.

I’ve always had a tiny circle of close friends. Tiny, like “you can count them on one hand and still have fingers left” kind of tiny. So when one person leaves, it feels like losing a whole community.

“What would you do if we hadn’t met?” I answered right away. “I would be poorer.”

Fluttering stomach butterflies spelt anxiety to try new things. My soul’s lightness was proof for all I let go.

My fluid and versatile taste in music has the footprints of friends, neighbors, random people, bus rides, and so many other circumstances. Each song has a story, albeit short, that reminds me of someone or a group of persons.

How could I explain to people that a joke or insensitive comment about my weight touches very deep parts of my soul if I allow it?