(cw: death, murder, rape, sui)

I had two pieces of black organza salvaged from a sympathy bouquet for Brianna Ghey in February. I didn’t know her personally of course. But whenever I grieve over her or think of her, it always feels like it could have been any of us. Trans lives have tended towards shortness. Whenever a trans sibling’s birthday passes (very recently, C’s did), it is a sobering achievement on its own. It marks another year of survival for one of us. The ways we leave can be brutal, violent: murder, incarceration, rape, suicide. This past month, every single day I have wanted to end it all. My dreams have intensified and have emotionally exhausted me. I have been so tired, and so very lonely.

I felt that the way we mourned for those who we have lost can be extended into back into daily life. This was why I ended up with two pieces of organza in my storage. I was figuring out a life and practice for them beyond the mourning period. Today I discovered a place for one of the pieces. My room is positioned well. On some nights, I have witnessed the Moon on her serene rise through my window. High upon the ledge of my window I have installed a clear acrylic case. I have stuffed the case with the organza, where my rocks can lie snug. When needed, the Moon will keep them company. It’s a precarious arrangement, but I try my best to make things comfortable.

If failure smells, it has become my odor. If heartbreak stinks, I have been wearing it like parfum. I can barely stay awake during the day or night. While I am awake I have been stuffing myself with food. I want to give up.