We stroll down the street listening to the soft whisper of the rain. As we approach a group of
boys, we pull away from each other. Being gay and alive is an act of protest that I did not
sign up for. In the absence of the world, I know your hand would be outstretched for me. In
another universe, I reach for your hand and no one looks at us like we’re doing something
wrong. In another universe, I could sit in the front row at your funeral, mourning with the rest
of your family, rather than being barred to the back with those faces that you could never
quite put a name to. In another universe, I’m not just this identity, I am my passions and my
dreams. But in this universe, the world is watching. In this universe, I can understand the
world but it cannot understand me.
For now we can sit in the rain, and drown in something other than the tragedy. And when my
memories have all but evaporated, this is the feeling that I will remember.