I loved girly things so much I started liking girls.
I always loved girly things. It wasn’t a choice, really—it was just how I felt, how the world seemed to come alive for me. There was something about the soft pinks and delicate ribbons, the flow of a dress, the sparkle of a good pair of shoes that felt right. These things weren’t just objects to me—they were like an expression of something deeper, something that made me feel like I could be myself. Like the world around me was softer, warmer, and more beautiful when I surrounded myself with things that felt so... me.
It started small. A pretty hairpin here, a floral notebook there. Things that made me smile, that made me feel a little closer to the person I imagined I wanted to be. But as I grew, those things began to feel like pieces of a puzzle, pieces I didn’t know were leading somewhere until one day, I realized something. It wasn’t just the things I liked—it was the way they made me feel when I saw them in others. The way a girl’s laugh could brighten a room in a way that made my heart race. The way I would find myself drawn to her smile, her eyes, her presence—just as much as I was drawn to all the delicate, pretty things I admired.
I started to notice it in the way I would look at girls—really look at them. I’d catch myself in those moments, trying to figure out why my heart felt different when I was near them. The same way I felt drawn to the softness of a floral dress or the twirl of a skirt, I felt something stir inside when I saw the girls I admired. I couldn’t put it into words at first, but it was there—a quiet, undeniable truth.
I loved girly things so much, I think I started to love girls, too.
Not in the way I thought I was supposed to love boys, not the way the world around me expected.
But in a way that felt soft, tender, and real. I didn’t know how to explain it, but I didn’t need to. It was in the way her laughter echoed in my chest, in the way her hand brushed against mine and the world seemed to slow down. It was in the way her presence made everything else fade away. It wasn’t just about being “girly” anymore; it was about feeling something so pure, so undeniable, that it reached deep into my soul.
And suddenly, all those things I loved—the girly things, the sparkly things, the dresses and ribbons—didn’t feel like they were just things anymore. They were a reflection of something bigger. They were the subtle, beautiful things that made me feel whole. Because I wasn’t just admiring them from afar anymore. I was seeing them in someone else—someone who shared that same softness, that same beauty, that same quiet power.
And I knew, deep down, that this was where I belonged.
