She will go down

The clock strikes (*record scratch*) on the last hour of Pride

My world kind of exploded last month. I want to tell you about it but don’t really know what to say or where to start. Like touching the tentacles of a sea anemone, I worry that the mere attention of this essay will force the beauty of this experience to shrivel and collapse on itself. And yet, the newfound expansion begssss to be Paul Revered door-to-door. At least that’s how I felt when calling and texting my rotation of friends to deliver the news:

I had sex with a woman.