Dear you,
I was thinking about how you appear in my life at exactly the right times... and yet, how sometimes I don't even notice you... how sometimes I resent you or try to control you.
I remember walking from public speaking class, talking about whether we thought being gay was biological or socially constructed. It was cold out in a very San Francisco way.
I remember dancing to Ani Difranco at the Greek Theatre in Berkeley. The feeling of my shirt on my abdomen almost startled me.
I remember performing for my Masters Thesis, and I looked out at the audience, seeing each and every person.
And I remember you in a tent in Michigan. The rain poured in from a not-quite-right tarp job. Sia played. And then there was you.
Today, my legs ached as I walked up the hill outside my home... the hill that seems to get bigger by the day... the hill that seems to symbolize everything and nothing at once. I saw you then, and had a rare moment of appreciation.
Now, I stare at my hands, full of thick pulsing veins, cracked with lines that make them appear much larger and wonder if I can practice accepting you as is.
I take a deep breath, feeling my heart beat steadily and strongly.
I exhale as my stomach gurgles.
Goose bumps rush to my arms, and I smile.
I miss you when you are gone. I want to love you. I struggle to hate you.
But in the end, hill, tent, dancing, walking, or performing... there is always you, and it is always about you.
I was thinking about how you appear in my life at exactly the right times... and yet, how sometimes I don't even notice you... how sometimes I resent you or try to control you.
I remember walking from public speaking class, talking about whether we thought being gay was biological or socially constructed. It was cold out in a very San Francisco way.
I remember dancing to Ani Difranco at the Greek Theatre in Berkeley. The feeling of my shirt on my abdomen almost startled me.
I remember performing for my Masters Thesis, and I looked out at the audience, seeing each and every person.
And I remember you in a tent in Michigan. The rain poured in from a not-quite-right tarp job. Sia played. And then there was you.
Today, my legs ached as I walked up the hill outside my home... the hill that seems to get bigger by the day... the hill that seems to symbolize everything and nothing at once. I saw you then, and had a rare moment of appreciation.
Now, I stare at my hands, full of thick pulsing veins, cracked with lines that make them appear much larger and wonder if I can practice accepting you as is.
I take a deep breath, feeling my heart beat steadily and strongly.
I exhale as my stomach gurgles.
Goose bumps rush to my arms, and I smile.
I miss you when you are gone. I want to love you. I struggle to hate you.
But in the end, hill, tent, dancing, walking, or performing... there is always you, and it is always about you.
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