“You can’t help who you love any more than you can help how tall you are or what color your skin is. It’s not a fucking choice, it just is.” Shaking his head, he looked away sharply, his hands balled into fists. “What do you see when you look at me?” I asked, spreading my hands to the sides. “Do I look sick? Do I look like someone you should torture and kill because I’m gay? How about when you look in the mirror?”
