.. he."I couldn't even end my sentence, my mother had to the ingrate job for me: "Dylan is dead. Honey... I'm so sorry..."Maybe I'd sound like such a ...ypocrite, but the pain was real.And it was destroying me, from the inside: a dark shadow, swallowing my soul, my inner light."Please, just tell me the day of the funeral, I'll be at home." The fact, honey... The fact is, his parents have informed the town only after the funeral. We didn't have the chance to say him goodbye for the last time. Just. I’d get dressed up, walk around in it, feel so confident, so alive so much more me. The fabric just felt so much more comfortable, so much more delicate, softer. Like even down to the undies, its madness I would feel the difference even if the thong in no way supported/held my gentlemen’s vegetables. I would swear that males undies of the time were made of cardboard and barbwire, girl pants were of butterflies and angel song. I would take pictures of myself, look at myself in all my forms, and. More

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