When I was 13, I built myself a closet to suffocate in my non-existent heterosexuality. Decorated the walls pink and blue, hoping it would feel like home. 

I grew up thinking there was only gay or straight, no other option. So, I spent half of my life having a gay identity crisis. 

Then you came along and decided to keep me company. You asked to kiss me because you heard from a guy named Michael that my lips were soft and my tongue tasted like candy.

It was just for fun, you said. Nothing but curiosity, you said. 

Then we spent weeks kissing in empty classrooms during lunch breaks and after school. We fooled around in the dark. Held hands as innocently as we could, hid our intentions with our playful smiles.  Hid in the shadows behind stacked chairs.

Because we were afraid to show love in open spaces. Peering eyes and close ears kept us at a distance. Avoiding crowds and attention, our relationship thrived with this overwhelming anxiety of getting caught.

You found comfort in my closet too because you said it made you feel safe. So, we locked ourselves in hoping the world will never find us.

Then you got claustrophobic. 

Weeks went by until I found a note tucked between my notebooks saying we were no longer friends. My heart broke, you gave me no explanation and avoided me until graduation.

It was clear the closet I built was too small for both of us when I saw you walking around school holding hands with a boy named Paul. 

Leave a comment

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

%d bloggers like this: