I sit down for lunch with a loved one
And we exchange pleasantries.
And for a moment, I forget who I am,
Until the name escapes her lips.

“Sapphire” I remind her.
“Hm?”
“I’m Sapphire.”
“And how many more ‘you’s will there be?” She asks.

And I know she means well.
I tell myself she means well.
But I want to lunge over the table,
I want to scream to her, to the world
“There will be as many more ‘me’s as there will be days I live on this earth!”

But she means well,

She really does.

Afterall,
How can I expect someone her age to understand?
How can I expect her to wrap her head around
My halfways-girl transness?
My halfways-nothing void-self?

Until then,
“I don’t know. I think I have it down now,
But only time will tell, won’t it?”
Won’t it?