Strawberry Seed Girl

I think I’m in love with the Strawberry Seed Girl. I remember the night we met.

Chocolate-covered strawberries, playing Harry’s House. Your strawberry-chapstick-lined lips

and the taste of cherry wine. My rose-stained skirt–you helped me take it off. Softness and

femininity. We danced in your kitchen, and I’ve never felt more alive. I think I love you. What if I

love you? I’ve never loved someone like you. So what does that make me?

I picked blueberries my whole life. I even had a Blueberry Boy once. It was perfect. It was

everything I wanted. To have him hold me close, kiss my rosy cheek. We’d watch late-night

movies and count the stars while walking down streets. Everyone was happy for me. Things

were the way it was supposed to be. I like blueberries, I do. But I think I’d like strawberries too,

even though I’m not supposed to.

I lie awake at night and wonder what to do. Do I have to choose blue? Why do I have to choose

one type of person to love? I met a girl once. She only liked strawberry girls. She told me she’d

never pick blueberries again. I don’t think that's me. I’m not like her. I don’t want to choose.

What does this mean for me? If I can’t choose to pick only blueberries or only strawberries for

the rest of my life, what does that make me? Everyone tells me to pick. To choose. Which one to

love. To decide how I will love them. They say I have to choose. But I don’t know. Some

mornings I wake up and all I want are blueberries; other days I only want strawberries. Some

days I’d be fine with both, and some days I don’t want any at all. I’m scared to tell people the 

wrong thing. What if I tell them I love blueberries, but tomorrow my

answer is different? I don’t think I want just one fruit for the rest of my life. What if they hate me

for it? It’s not up to me. I didn’t decide how to feel. They won’t see it that way. They’ll tell me to

choose, and I can’t. I want to fall in love with the Strawberry Seed Girl, and maybe in ten years

there’ll be another Blueberry Boy–or maybe not. Either way, I want it to be okay. I want you to

love me regardless of which fruits I like… So, will you love me either way? Can you love me

either way?