March used to seem so far away, and now it’s here. With it comes my melancholy—I thought maybe I’d get lucky this year. I can be happy just like you. Swim with the current just like you. Talk with conviction just like you. Maybe you’ll let me rest my head between your beating heart and heavy hands when I get tired. Take a break from trying to look busy. Take a break from being sick. Take a break from being a Man. Past the midnight whispers. Past pretending not to care. Past the secrets that we’ve rephrased as ‘Special.’ I won’t tell anyone how much you care about me, but if you run your hand up my thigh just like that night under the table, they may just catch a glimpse of how gorgeous this really is to us. And you can sit back and watch as I grow small for you. Small. Small. Smaller. Watch as I dress for you. How I talk for you. How I perform for you. How I wear my hair in two perfect braids just for you. You. You.