My freshman year in college, I met an engaging enigmatic young man. Curly hair, devilish eyes, and sharp wit, when he took an interest in me, he was irresistible. He saw something in me that I had never seen in myself. He didn’t quite see the truth, but he saw deeper than anyone else, and that was the ruin of our relationship in the end.
He was kind. He was steadfast. He was patient. He was a keeper.
I was young, inexperienced, naive, and, worst of all, homophobic. I didn’t think I was. But my experience in the LGBTQ world was limited to a few exposures in high school that were not positively supported, and too many ingrained media and redneck responses to all things gay. Adding to that, I was constantly accused or suspected of being gay, a faggot, or queer since 6th grade.