The Chain of the Necktie
I made a friend soon after entering high school.
But before long, that friend said they wanted to be more than that.
Something inside my chest twisted and cracked.
There was no reason to refuse,
and no reason to accept.
I simply drifted with the current.
Our school had an old tradition:
lovers exchanged their neckties—
a symbol of bond, they called it.
Yet to me,
it looked more like a collar—
a sign not of affection, but of ownership.
In time, I ended that relationship,
and never fell in love again.
Spring was drawing to a close.
The wind slipped beneath my collar,
its touch strangely vivid against my skin.
The Forced Kindness
One day, at the school shop,
the clerk took my hand together with the change.
A first meeting.
A one-sided affection.
A warmth I did not ask for.
All I could do was freeze.
After that, my existence began to take on
a life of its own in places I'd never been.
A former classmate I met in town told me, kindly,
"You've got a lover now, I heard."
"You're even known at other schools."
Someone's version of me
was walking freely without me,
living a life I didn't choose.
It felt uncanny.
Kindness is a trap that approaches softly.
I smiled, and stepped back.
I wanted to scream—please, stop.
But I couldn't.
I never could.
Fear of Kindness
One evening after class,
someone called out to me in the hall.
"You look tired lately."
The words made my breath stop.
Why?
"I'm fine," I said—too quickly, too high.
Their expression darkened with concern.
That look of worry—
the moment I saw it,
guilt spread through my chest.
I had made a mistake again.
No one had done anything wrong.
And yet, it hurt.