one day I’m going to bump into a straight boy on the sidewalk while reading a tom robbins novel and he will be so impressed by my intellect and pink hair that he will ask for my phone number. we’ll text back and forth for nearly a year, discussing french poetry and the horrors of the third world. eventually, I’ll develop terminal cancer, and he will come to me on my deathbed and profess his undying love for me. I will look him in the eyes and with my final breath say, “nah bitch. I’m lesbian” and then I’ll die