By Sophie Farmer
I remember the advent of attraction.
Her.
Staring, unable to look away. Jeans and a t-shirt, effortlessly cool. A unicorn in a one-horse town.
Who was she?
I remember curiosity and fear and longing and youthful ignorance turning attraction into admiration.
I remember eager denial.
My mother catching me staring, asking if I knew her. I didn’t.
But I wanted to.
I remember the emergence of love.
Him.
Tall, tall, tall with hands so soft and a smile so kind.
An exception to the rule, masculine without intimidation. A lifetime overridden.
Not my father.
Not a threat.
He makes me feel safe. He makes me feel like I’m home.
Looking at me like I’ll give him the stars.
He’s looking at me like I exist.
I remember realising,
Slowly.
Slipping into it like slipping into a dream.
A final piece clicking into place.
The word having meaning,
The meaning having me.
Bisexual.
I remember looking at him,
Smiling.
Speaking those words that I was only just discovering.
Nothing but love. Nothing but acceptance.
Nothing wrong with me.
Finally.
I remember comfort.
Her,
Him,
Both.
