She wasn’t another outsider at all.
My brief time with her
Taught me how it felt not to be
So desperately alone.
She turned out to feel the same way.
If I let myself,
I could fall into the traps of letting them decide
Who and what I am.
The two of us were drawn well together.
Lingering curiosity about what I had glimpsed
In my dreams months before.
The risk was terrible,
Although I kept fantasizing I saw her
My imagination was playing cruel tricks
Now I’m stained with her blood
In the shape of a cross.