We hurt people that love us
Love people that hurt us
We say we want to date our best friend
And end up dating someone we are afraid our friends will hate
I think I can collapse everything to rules and principles
I live in a world of impressions and outlines
Everyone is a representation of their identities
When I overhear conversations I see dotted outlines
Like those at a crime scene
I see
Straight Mexican/Italian couple with crypto bro husband and stay at home hot wife
A white gay couple, one man left ex wife for other man
My resentment bubbles over
I want a place to put it
An outlet for that anger
I never have the heart to place it anywhere
Because by the time I’m about to the outline has been filled
With a living breathing pulsing human being.

But you didn’t seem to care for outlines.
The closest you ever came was when I accidentally called you Indian.
‘I’m not Indian, I’m Pakistani’
And then the conversation simply moved on

Everything on paper I wanted to hate.
The way you liked baseball and beer and girls.
The fact that your existence wasn’t political to you.
I hated that you liked.
Except I didn’t.
I hated your outline and not you.

I remember when you confronted me about my music snobbery.
‘I didn’t like the way you hated on EDM’
I insisted I liked techno. I liked DnB.
‘Those are all types of EDM’ you said.
I hated EDM because of its fanbase.
I hated your outline and not you.

You would get confused whenever I claimed to not like something.
I didn’t want to be lumped in with everyone else.
‘I don’t like the outdoors. I’m not a granola girl. I’m indoors. I wear a leopard print jacket and roam the
streets.’
You took me surfing.
You strapped the strap to my ankle
And pushed me on my too-big surfboard.
‘I’m not really an outdoor girl.’
‘You want to be.’
I think about you when I hike.
When I backpack through Catalina Island, ocean on either side whispers.
Sweat cooling my neck.

I wanted to stay an outline.
You filled me in.
All along I wanted you to trace me but you refused
You stared me in the face and I buckled from the sunlight
I wish I had just loved you
Instead of trying to trace you.

Swetha Berana is a musician and writer based in San Diego, California. Her work has appeared in Spark Magazine, Silk Magazine, and others.  Swetha enjoys reading, the ocean, and contemplating unnecessary questions.