Becoming a Queen

by Dan Clay

Is there anything more insulting to the stars than forcing them into constellations? The beautiful, vital chaos of the universe and we think it’d be better to say it looks like a spoon.

“And you want to know the truth? The bigger truth? Little bro, every good relationship makes you wanna be more of yourself. Not less.”

“I think they’re cool with me being gay as long as they don’t have to picture it.”

Every house has a very specific smell, but you grow immune to the one you live in. It’s kind of terrifying, when you think about it, that you’re oblivious to the most obvious things in your life.

Could I ask the questions I want answers to? Could I do what’s almost obvious and just, my God, just tell the truth to the people I love and ask for it back from the people who love me?

Through the full-length mirror, he looks me in the eyes, and I hold on tight to a reflected piece of evidence that it just might be possible for someone, one person, to see the whole Me and not want to return parts of it for a refund.

So they’d be fine, just so long as I could nonconform from the comfort of our living room.

They say things get better with time. But I don’t think that’s true. It hurts just as much today as it did when it first happened. Things don’t get better. You get better. Better at dealing with the things that stay bad.

People tell you to “be yourself,” but I count about a thousand different selves. And some of them are selfish and scared.

One person left and the whole world went missing.

Once, I felt very, very low after a breakup. I came up with my own explanation of why I wasn’t good enough for the guy, and I remember exactly what Eric told me: “Bud, good relationships make you want to be so fully you that even the parts that you thought were broken they somehow teach you to love. In good relationships, you’re not wondering if you’re too this, or too that. The person loves you because you’re too this and too that and actually wants you to be more this and more that.” So I guess this post is for anyone who’s considered toning it down. Maybe turn it up. Because if you can be yourself even when the rest of the world is trying to get you to be more like them, well, “That’s the ticket, bud.”

“And even if I live to a million years old, meet a million more people, and do a trillion more things, my favorite thing I ever was, was your little brother.”

So we know the limits of language. We know there should be a whole world of words in between grief and life. Or just one word, maybe, for love that’s forever even after it’s gone. Or a word for what it’s like to move forward, but not on.