A shoutout to all trans people: I just love you so much. You are beautiful, full-of-beauty; and you are also so strong and so loved, whatever your identity is, and whatever ways you choose to express it.
And it is also a bit personal. It's for my friend Max (he's my gorgeous bro; I call him Phoenix) and myself (Max calls me Bluebird), because we both are newly-reborn non-binary birdies.
Well, it happens sooner or later when you are in a relationship. It is logical, natural, and so on: you are just going to leave because it is late, and I just ask you if you would like to stay. And you stiffen.
It all goes smooth and calm until I hug you from behind, feeling the warmth of your skin through your shirt, and understand that you are petrified.
"Are you alright?"
You munch some sounds, and they clearly don't mean that you are.
"What is it?"
"Tina."
"Yes?"
You seem to shiver a little.
"I- I have something- I mean, to tell you."
"Please do."
You freeze, and I hear that your breath becomes fast and shallow. I kiss you on the shoulder and hope that it helps.
"If I undress... Well, maybe I don't look the way you would expect."
"I don't mind."
"Not at all."
"Well, really-"
"I mean it." Your voice is trembling.
"I mean it, too."
I would like to look into your eyes, but you turn away, gulp, and raise a shaking hand to your neck.
After undoing a couple of buttons, which takes long, you ask with an intonation that sounds like cheerful despair:
"And what do you expect to see?"
"Well, I don't know. Scars, maybe? You could get a lot, working with animals."
"Yeah."
"Are you afraid I won't like your scars?"
No answer. You just proceed, as slowly as you can. I can't even imagine what you could do if I tried to help, or to turn you when you finish. Standing there with you and your fear, I begin to feel nervous as well; I hate it if I am there for someone but I can't help them feel better.
At last, you turn to me, clutching at your shirt with your fists pressed so tight together and against your chest. Your arms look convulsively strained when you unwrap yourself.
A billion of freckles; bites, scratches, a couple of cured bruises; and, symmetrically ploughed through your tender skin... Scars, yeah...
In a voice deprived of any emotions, you comment:
"I had them cut off."
"You're-"
"And what is downstairs isn't- d-doesn't look the way you could expect. As well."
"You're beautiful."
You look at me, as if having asked a question and expecting me to answer. Maybe you haven't heard it. I hug you lightly; it is good that you allow me to approach.
"Or handsome, whichever you like more. You're wonderful. Reborn, aren't you? In a new body? Like... a phoenix."
Your breath seems to lighten.
"I've never thought like that. But I do feel reborn now." And you hug me as well.
"I love you, Newt."
"Can you imagine what it was like to get a proper shirt?" I feel you smile and hold you tighter.
"And I love your body because it is yours. Thank you for telling me."
You mutter something quite unclearly and fall silent when I stop to listen.
"But you also have to tell me what you... like. Will you?" I whisper it into your ear and kiss your neck, which makes you shiver again, and this time I like it.