ASYMPTOTE

For a long time, I believed the world was like the Disney fairytales. I was the hero of my own story. The quiet scholarship boy, the broken home, the girl who looked at me like I mattered-it all fit. I was waiting for the chapter where everything turned. Where I was finally seen. Finally chosen. Finally loved out loud instead of in secret.

I am still waiting.

St. Alban's Academy isn't a castle. It's a glass case. And I am not the prince. I am the thing pinned beneath the glass, wings still beating, while people in blazers take notes on how long I'll last. I came here with a secondhand blazer and a silence so loud it has its own heartbeat. I learn that invisibility isn't a curse-it's camouflage. So I start writing. Everything. Every betrayal. Every whispered insult. The way Tesoro looks at me like I am the answer to a question she is too afraid to ask out loud, then turns around and-

I write to survive. I write because the pages don't flinch. But then the pages start writing back.

There is a second voice now. In my journal. In my head. It doesn't comfort me. It doesn't lie to me. It crosses out my words and writes its own. And it is getting louder.

I don't know who I am right now. I don't know if I'm the victim or the villain or something in between that hasn't been named yet. All I know is that someone has been watching me since before I arrived. Someone has been waiting for me to break. And Tesoro is still right there-close enough to touch, far enough to destroy me.

Maybe that's what we are. Two lines getting infinitely close.

Maybe we are asymptote.

📓 This is my journal. Read it if you want. Believe me if you can. But I am still writing, and nothing is finished yet.