You give me something to get better for. You don’t just give me a reason to survive, to keep breathing and keep my blood in its veins, but to live. To buy new sharpies, to try choreography I wouldn’t, to change the settings on my camera for once. To make the trip to the mall to use my Hot Cash, and get the body mods I’ve wanted for so long. You give me the motivation to make appointments, and take medications, and get the procedures that put a pit in my stomach done. To actually attempt to take care of myself in the name of a theoretical future where we own a house in Mason that I get to cover in rainbows and checkerboard. The future where we have shitty theme park chicken tenders for dinner because it’s somehow cheaper than groceries, and frequent that outlet mall that sells Disneyland merchandise, and wake up to the sound of a familiar train whistle every morning. The one where the kitty gets to have someone home all day, and you have to remind me every day why I can’t have a guinea pig. The future that I’m fighting through this shit for, because I want to spend all of my future with you.
