Gay

I have the impression- it causes me vertigo- that everything starts again from zero; I was in the train station searching for him, waiting for me there in a velvet costume, his light blue eyes piercing my heart, and my heart started beating faster. I loitered behind the souvenir shop in agony. I hadn’t showered for two days, and had never bought him any presents. After his eyes, what drew my attention was his lips, which were sweet and light pink, full of youthful joy. Soon I approached him, staring into his eyes. He smiled innocently. My heart beat faster, my breath held something more than it released: excitement, a fullness, a sweetness of life. You are here. He opened his magical lips, then he paused. I looked for a long time inside him through his eyes. It felt like I was back home after an eternity. I touched his hands, his smooth, boyish hands, and squeezed them in mine.

I wondered what he’s thinking about me—a million thoughts. Doubts, then doubts about those doubts. I keep quiet as we walk out through the station’s main entrance. We pass cheap souvenir shops, the old bookstore that’s been there since 1957, and a shop selling products for African hair. We turn left, past a chain bakery—their tarts are fantastic.

I love everything: the narrow side streets tucked between the main ones, the mundane weather, the heavy clouds, the small raindrops falling on my heavy head. And next to me, Jonas, describing his daily schedule and all the people I must meet—so many names, people I’ve almost forgotten or never knew. Yet his chatter becomes the marrow of the moment, a tender melody in my ears.

He suddenly touched my cheek and said in the most endearing voice, “Let’s buy you some of your favorite tarts, shall we?”

We strolled in the nearby park, where the trees bloomed with white flowers, and greenery filled my eyes. We sat on the grass beneath the big oak tree. I couldn’t wait any longer. I urgently took his joyful face in my hands and kissed him passionately—a long, endless kiss—then wrapped him in a tight embrace. I buried my head in his sweet-smelling chest and closed my eyes. “I missed you,” he says. And then I began to cry uncontrollably. “I missed you, too,” I reply, in a cheesy, endearing voice.

I couldn’t bring myself to say I love you, but the words were already forming inside me. Then I fantasized about our bodies, naked in his small room, before his parents come home. We had only three hours. We took a taxi, and my sad suitcase was beside us. On the ride, we talked about nothing—just little profanities about the weather, and what’s changed on which street.

We went straight to his room. I took a shower—I was filthy. Then I undressed him, and we had sex. It was rushed, a little disappointing, and tense with the fear of his parents arriving. The atmosphere was far from ideal.