Aromantic Blues

Flowers make me sick, as do the chocolates, the bears, rom-coms, and the songs you would blast on your stereo.

You knew all of that when you saw my scowl as we passed each other in the crowded high school hallway: you had your arm around your new boyfriend, posting him for the world to see (a new one next week).

The couples with their balloons in the commons made my stomach churn in ways that nobody else understood. I had tried romance, but your touch made a part of me die.

I’m not equipped for that kind of life.