I had a dream about you (though, it happens often). We lay on the floor in a room with no furniture, and looked up at the ceiling, and I let you talk. For a while, I think you took my hand. My favorite times are when you sit beside me and talk when you don't have to be anything, and I hope someday you realize you don't have to be anything they want ever.
I know you would deny it, but I really did see a flicker of your full self, open; just a few times. When I would ramble and you would brush the hair from my eyes, when I would say goodbye and you would come back for a kiss, when you would crack and laugh at true absurdity, and once we danced and I caught you singing. I saw it, only slightly, but I hope that you find a way someday to participate in some vulnerability, more than few-second increments, because Open looks good on you.