Set the Record Straight

by Hannah Bonam-Young

Clara was special. Is special. She’s a mosaic of a person. So many differing, unique elements that create one perfect thing. A little chaotic and a whole lot of mess involved—but beautiful all the same.

I’m either a narcissist—and can only get off using my own imagination by myself—or I’m not as straight as I thought I was this morning. Hell, an hour ago.

she speaks like there isn’t enough time to get everything out. One thought poured out after another, sometimes so on top of each other it’s hard to keep up.

“I’m not sure what’s going on with me,” she whispers. “But I think I like it.” “Kissing girls?” “Kissing you,”

If I had to pinpoint it—if I was asked at this exact moment—I’d say my sexuality is the corner of Evan’s lips. It’s the gasps she makes that act as a windstorm in my chest. It’s the space between her fingers where I fit better than anywhere else. It’s all instinct here. Intuition. And I’ve been waiting my whole life for this rush. So I’m not questioning it anymore.

actually have a really good feeling that this could have been the first day of waking up next to the love of my life.

I love that there are no games between us. No carefully chosen words. No unspoken thoughts. Just honest, blunt enthusiasm for what’s to come. It’s freeing to not have to pretend.

She’s so happy. I’d do anything to keep it that way.

the difference between your parents finding out your friend is gay and telling your parents you are gay.

It was something about realising how quickly life can move on—how suddenly feelings can change—that sent me spiralling. Could Clara change her mind so easily? Could she go from we are together to we don’t work just as fast as Natalie did?

“That I’d spent my life as a half, and now I’m whole. Like I’ve been sleeping so long under a haze—an illusion of comfort—then you came in. Sunshine and golden rays of light. And you made everything brighter.”

You have a place in my heart that no one else could ever have. I doubt anyone could come close.”

“I actually thought there were only two kinds of love before. That it was just love like your family or romantic love. But I think there may be hundreds of kinds. Love like a new lease on life. Love like a place to exist freely. Love like being understood. Love like the contented quiet. Love like freshly baked cookies. Love like a thin veil between wishing it’d started earlier and loving the way it began.”

Evan’s doing a brave thing, going home to a place that hasn’t felt like home for a long time, if ever.

Everyone deserves to go home again.

“Their love, what they gave you before you told them, what they gave on their terms… it’s not real love. It’s not unconditional. It’s not the type of love that parents ought to be prepared to give.”