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Despite his grief, he picked up where my parents left off and helped make today come true.
“You know, most college nicknames are ridiculous, but yours tracks,” he says.
As my chest rests against him, I absorb every bit of the five inches he has on me at six-foot-nine, and the bulk of his muscle mass. I imagine a full hug would be like a swaddle. I pull away from the hug, but not before I absorb his heavenly cologne. It’s distinct.
You’ve got it bad. I love it.
I’d recognize grief anywhere. Why else would he use his body to memorialize death? I wonder who he’s lost.
Like the text is scheduled to delete itself in thirty seconds, I save his number with zero chill.
your…vibe. I can’t tell you the last time I had such an enjoyable conversation that wasn’t centered on basketball, cars, or women. I also had a feeling that you might be spending the day alone.”
The truth is, I think about Sid and our interview every day.
We’re all haunted in some way—whether by the secrets we protect, the truths we deny, or the inexplicable ugliness life throws our way.”
“This is flirting!” I yell into the air.
“I’m bi. I’ve learned through therapy that sexuality isn’t always as simple as falling into one label or category. I’m bi, for sure. But there’s usually an emotional bond coupled with my attraction to men. It’s like I’m bi and demisexual. I know people expect you to fit in one label, but I think sexuality can be way more complex than that.”
“Struggling with your mental health isn’t a dirty secret. You know that, right?”
I’m constantly failing everyone. For Christ’s sake, I’m just one man. Sometimes I just want to disappear.
We live in a culture of cowardice and self-numbing masquerading as maturity—”
Oh, I don't know, fuck face, maybe because you’re reducing an emotional, erotic, and romantic identity to a singular sexual act?
If I ever decided to come out, I’d start with Kaleb, Idris, Tev, and Malik.
Sexual identity is private.
