The real violence, the violence that I realized was unforgivable, is the violence that we do to ourselves, when we’re too afraid to be who we really are.
Today, I’m marching for that part of me that was once too afraid to march and for all the people who can’t march, the people living lives like I did. Today, I march to remember that I’m not just a me. I’m also a we. And we march with pride.
Amanita, I wrote this thing like a hundred times and I tore them all up because I have to admit, I don’t like vows. I’m afraid of things pretending to be permanent because nothing is permanent. My life, especially these past two years, is a testament to the fact that things change, people change. But with you that doesn’t scare me. It actually makes me happy. It makes me excited because I can think of no better life than watching Amanita Caplan change, watching her evolve and grow. I want to see everything that you become. I want to know what your hair looks like in a year and decades from now. I may not be a tragically detached French girl, but I want to live in an attic apartment in Paris and bring you tea as you write your novel. And when we’re both wrinkled old ladies, with cellulite covering my ass, bunions all over your feet, both of us hogging the blankets, I know I will still remember this moment. I will still be wearing this ring. Because inside your arms is the only place I’ve ever felt like I was home.