Kacy Todd

“It is love that will survive after everything else has perished.”
― Chloe Gong, Our Violent Ends

“Why is the world like this? How is the world like this? How is it that humans have created a society that allows a child to come to the conclusion that they would be better off dead than alive because they like the same sex?”
― Aaron H. Aceves, This Is Why They Hate Us

“Roma Montagov kicks a chair. “God—” “—dammit,” Juliette Cai finishes with a whisper, far across the city.”
― Chloe Gong, Our Violent Ends

“Artoo,
I'm switching back to regular handwriting. Calligraphy is hard, and I didn't bring my good pens. Or I need more practice.
Right now you're sitting across from me, probably writing HAGS 30 times in a row. I know a little bit of a lot of languages, but even so, I struggle to put this into words. Okay. I'm just going to do it.
First of all, I need you to know I'm not putting this out there with any hope of reciprocation. This is something I have to get off my chest (cliché, sorry) before we go our separate ways (cliché). It's the last day of school, and therefore my last chance.
"Crush" is too weak a word to describe how I feel. It doesn't do you justice, but maybe it works for me. I am the one who is crushed. I'm crushed that we have only ever regarded each other as enemies. I'm crushed when the day ends and I haven't said anything to you that isn't coated in five layers of sarcasm. I'm crushed, concluding this year without having known that you like melancholy music or eat cream cheese straight from the tub in the middle of the night or play with your bangs when you're nervous, as though you're worried they look bad. (They never do.)
You're ambitious, clever, interesting, and beautiful. I put "beautiful" last because for some reason, I have a feeling you'd roll your eyes if I wrote it first. But you are. You're beautiful and adorable and so fucking charming. And you have this energy that radiates off you, a shimmering optimism I wish I could borrow for myself sometimes.
You're looking at me like you can't believe I'm not done yet, so let me wrap this up before I turn it into a five-paragraph essay. But if this were an essay, here's the thesis statement:
I'm in love with you, Rowan Roth.
Please don't make too much fun of me at graduation?
Yours,
Neil P. McNair”
― Rachel Lynn Solomon, Today Tonight Tomorrow