Loneliness Is A Wounded Beast, Roaring And Clawing At The Walls Of My Heart, Wailing For Reprieve, Relief

An old sparkly journal is buried at the bottom of a weathered and worn, old cardboard box. Every other page has an "I ♡ Alex" written in pink ink on it. That girl used count every hand-holding, shoulder-touch, head-pat her first real crush ever gave her and wrote it all down. "He held my hand and rest his head on my shoulder." Fast forward three years and I started a new school, I'm fifteen years old and I reminisce fondly over my younger self's crush, at a party. Everyone around me mistakes my smile as lingering feelings for him, after all, I wasn't very subtle with my feelings back then. They just don't know. Now with older eyes to look back with, I realized something. I was always made of love. Love was never something I had to look for outside of me, it was always within me, I just didn't know it. I am love and love was always made of me.

—Camille Lee, love is what I was always made of

He was the first guy, I tried the "talking stage" with. I told him slow, glacially slow, like a candle burning into the late hours of the night, but he didn't hear over his own wants, his own needs. It was part of the reason it was the end of our season, on his way out the door he broke my heart all over and I knew I dodged a bullet when his ego started talking. Suddenly, oh so suddenly, I wasn't worthy of someone like him. Suddenly my beauty was too little and there was something wrong with me, so much for "you're my ideal girl" because now apparently I "wasn't even that pretty" and my version of normal was a problem. The way I was, was a problem. You said if I'm not happy with you, I'll never find a boyfriend. At the mere age of twenty with so much life left to live ahead of me, did you really think that's what I'd believe? The audacity— to try to convince me I wasn't worth loving, if I didn't want to be with you. My only regret is I didn't laugh in your face, so much for the "talking stage."

—Camille Lee, you'll never find a boyfriend

Love is extensively and excessively patient with me, but that's how I know love will never run out of it with me. Love messages everyday at lunch “did you eat?” because love knows I’ll forget when I’m busy. Love holds my hand when the doctor administers the needle and love carries my things after the appointment because they’re a ‘gentlemen’. Love always insists they carry the bags with me when it gets heavy. Love takes great care to place their hand on my left shoulder, to cradle me closer, the pain in my right arm subsides a little quicker. Love held me in a doctor's office and they dried my tears, after I cried over little teeny tiny, baby needles.

— Camille Lee, love is the one who holds my hand

When you're sensitive, your world is always crumbling—crumbling and rebuilding, rebuilding and crumbling, demolition and construction begin and end and begin again. I could get new carpets, new floor plan or buy furniture too—all brand new, only for another wave, another hurricane to come again and wash it all away.

— Camille Lee, the world is always ending

Even if you were hanging off the edge of a cliff, with a white knuckle grip and only me to save you, I will never forgive you. I'd pry each one of your fingers off, the dying olive branch you clung to and I'll never forgive you. The asteroid will hit, wipe out everyone on earth, leaving us as it's last wanderers. The sky will open up and the waves will rise to devour us. The gods from the heavens above will rage and swallow whole this desolate planet. I'd sit next to you through it all, maybe hold your hand as the world ends and I still will never forgive you.

—Camille Lee, I will never forgive you

You're too soft, the world will easily devour you whole. You've got no sharp teeth. All dull and rounded, blunt at the edges. You've got no claws, you've got no teeth, no nails to tear into skin. You're just too soft for this world and the wolves will come to eat you alive. They will feast on your soft bits, gobble you and forget your bones where they lay. You're sobbing and no one will listen, but it is said you deserve what's coming. With torn flesh between their teeth and blood spraying from their mouths, they will ask, why didn't you harden when you know you're just too soft for this world?

—Camille Lee, too soft

We were made for connection, us, it's what makes us human. The crook of my shoulder is a resting place for your weary head, your hand fits snug in mine and it might seem silly to say but we fit together like puzzle pieces when we cuddle, arms around my waist, you're fast asleep while I admire the details of your face. Falling into you would be easy— so easy, it would be like breathing. Therefore I think I deserve some credit, for resisting your outstretched hand, even when you look so kind, I still have no clue if its genuine, but you look so inviting under these lights.

—Camille Lee, falling into you

You say you can't understand. You say how can I be ok, walking around with this brave face, but if I crawl into your lap and rest my head on your chest, will you keep my tears? Like a badge of honour over your heart? Cradle me, like a child, is there nothing to fear, as long as you're here? Does my pain scare you?

— Camille Lee, will you hold me like a child?