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The existential shrug of young men afraid to admit that they’ve been touched by art, and that they want to be touched in that way again.
I knew I had to return to those streets and sidewalks, crowded with people who had found a way to be themselves.
That night was the first time in my life I felt like the words “gay” and “alone” weren’t synonyms for each other.
When I looked up, she was staring at me, wide-eyed, almost pleadingly—as if I’d led someone afraid of heights to the edge of a rusting bridge. And then I did exactly what I thought all people who love each other do: I changed the subject; I changed myself; I erased everything I had just said; I erased myself so I could be her son again.
