People ask me a lot about what happened. About why we didn’t work. Why we ended. How we ended.
People ask me a lot about the ending, less about the inbetweens. Hoping to bypass the necessity of failure, the lesson of pain. The lesson of new beginnings, of continuous endings.
People ask me for the shortcut. I only know the scenic route.
Some men are going to look at you and wonder about the others before him. Some people will look at you and summarize the entirety of who you are to the people who’ve touched you, kissed you, fucked you.
I grew up surrounded with the idea that the more of me I shared, the less of me there was left. That I was some kind of pie or cake or confectionary made for consumption. A math problem about how many pieces I could be cut into before there was nothing.
I missed this: the intensity, the fire, the first.
How a first kiss is compared to the last. How the last is never last until it’s too late.
Hi, I'm Jenny Vu. 