let me be 🏳️🌈🎀
She always knew she was different.
It wasn’t something loud or dramatic. It didn’t hit her like a sudden storm. It came in soft waves — the way her heart beat faster around certain girls, how she paid more attention to their smiles than to anything boys ever said. She would watch the way other girls laughed, the way their hands moved when they spoke, and something inside her felt warm. Real. Undeniable.
But the world around her didn’t make space for girls like her to feel that way.
In her school, everyone talked about crushes — on boys. They’d giggle over group chats and rate boys out of ten, share screenshots and stories, and expect her to do the same. So she faked it. Pretended to like someone because it was easier than explaining what she really felt. It was safer than being the girl who didn’t fit the script.
She didn’t want to hide. But it was lonely not knowing who she could trust.
She didn’t want to lie. But it felt like no one would understand if she told the truth.
She dreamed of a world where she could talk about her crush without having to edit the pronouns. Where she could hold a girl’s hand and not feel eyes burning into her back. Where she didn’t have to keep her love life locked inside her own head like a secret she was ashamed of.
But most of all, she just wanted people to see her.
The real her.
Not the version they expected. Not the one that made them comfortable. But the girl who smiled differently when she texted. The girl who daydreamed about writing her girlfriend’s name in her notebook. The girl who wasn’t confused or experimenting — just in love, like anyone else.
Coming out wasn’t a one-time thing for her. It was a constant decision — every day, every place, every new person she met. Sometimes it felt empowering. Other times, exhausting. And no matter how proud she was on the inside, there were moments she felt small. Rejected. Scared.
She watched as her straight friends lived their love stories out loud — flowers on Valentine’s Day, public confessions, holding hands in the hallway. And she wondered, Why can’t I do the same? Why is my love something people whisper about?
But she didn’t stop being her.
She wrote poetry about girls with starlit eyes. She fell in love with the way another girl’s laugh made her stomach flip. She learned to say “I like her” without flinching. Without apologizing. Because the truth is — love is love. And hiding it doesn’t make it any less real.
She slowly started opening up — first to her best friend, then a cousin, then her mum. Some cried. Some smiled. Some didn’t know what to say. But every time she said the words — “I’m gay” — it felt like reclaiming a piece of herself.
She didn’t want to be tolerated. She wanted to be celebrated.
She didn’t want silence. She wanted to be acknowledged.
She deserved the kind of love story that could be told without shame — the late-night talks, the soft forehead kisses, the joy of being called someone’s girl. And she knew she didn’t have to wait for the world to catch up to her. She just had to be brave enough to exist loudly.
Because the more she stood in her truth, the more she attracted people who saw her clearly. People who clapped for her wins. Who asked about her crush like it was normal — because it is normal. Who didn’t make her feel like she had to come out just to be accepted.
She’s still learning. Still growing. Still navigating awkward glances and ignorant comments. But she’s no longer afraid of who she is.
She’s a girl who loves girls.
And that’s not something to hide. That’s something to shine with.
Her love wasn’t a phase. It was a revolution — quiet, soft, and beautifully real.
Comments
Post a Comment