Shut up. I'm your person.

[I'm Yang, and she's Grey. I think it's bullshit that I have to be the mean one, but whatever.]

She's my person.

When I asked her to pray, she told me she already was. She knew, even before I did, that I needed her support in a big way.

She texts and e-mails me "just to check on me." The messages often bring sweet tears to my eyes because they remind me just how in sync our hearts are. Often, she checks in just when I feel the most alone. She just knows.

We have what Brandon calls "Lesbian Date Night." Even though I don't get lucky, we don't always leave the house, and she makes me pay for myself, they're the best dates I've ever had.

We talk about everything, and I can't think of one secret I've kept from her. We laugh and say, "I'm glad we can even talk about this!"

When I tell her what I think is an amazing discovery about my heart or my desires, she looks at me as if to say, "Well, duh." She could have told me that.

We do life together. Our visits are almost always short, but they're frequent. We run errands together. She drops by school. We go for walks. We get french fries. (Oops. That was supposed to be our secret.)

It's perfect, which makes sense because she's "my person."