Dazzling
You aren't at all like the others from such times long ago. Times before I met you. The fear of persecution holding back affection, there just wasn't an "us" with those before I knew you. In public there was only guarded friendship, only a baseline never to be confused—at least in the prejudiced eyes of those wandering the streets—with we were truly doing in the bedroom.
It disgusted me. Lying like a kicked dog in terror of what could be said against us. I wouldn't subject myself to hiding, though there were less as open as I. I may have been comfortable in loving women, but there were so many lost in denial of their own true desires.
But you were ready to live. You wore your sexuality as a second skin, warm beneath your concert dresses, washed in sepia stage light. You saw, as I had, how either of us could live in oppression, alone, or forever leave the closet, together.
"Did you ever pretend?" My forehead droops to touch yours. Sweetly scented waves of aquamarine hair build walls around our faces. You never pull away from my displays, no matter where we are.
"I don't like games, Haruka." You smile, bright and beautiful. "At least the sort that push away who I really am."
"Michiru," I cannot help but kiss you. "You're dazzling in a way that should never be hidden."