The First to Die at the End

by Adam Silvera

Freedom should be freeing, but that doesn’t mean it can’t be heartbreaking.

I’d rather be planets apart as long as she’s still breathing on the other side of the galaxy.

I write short stories because I am one. I wish I was a novel. Breaths away from midnight, I know my final chapter is close. I look up at Valentino, wondering what life could’ve offered if I had more pages in me.

Especially in the South Bronx, where I’ve never seen two men holding hands and gay is used as an insult.