The Promise We Couldn't Keep

Epilogue

TPWCK:
EPILOGUE

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THE heart was confusing as it was insatiable, and no force could go against it from growing fonder with distance. It was way too mysterious to be understood, a difficult field of science in and of itself, and it left no room for arguments in its every demand.

I thought that I could handle the longing after parting with Samuel and focus on building the courage to come out to my parents, but I’d underestimated my love for him.

Irrepressible thoughts of him, of what we were, and of what we would’ve been had we still been together assaulted me every second every day. I could live with the thoughts for a while but they were attacking fiercer by the day, and I could barely hold on, a breakdown just right around the corner.

Seeing him, of what my and Rinia’s absence was costing him, breaking down that one night pushed me over the edge. I could take it if I were to suffer alone and in silence, but it was beyond me to watch other people, most especially Samuel, suffer from my own shortcomings.

The problem wasn’t him. The problem lay in me trying too hard to be someone I was not that it broke the person I was. I tried too hard to impress the strangers and acquaintances who barely cared for me that I pushed away the people that did.

I got too carried away in my prejudices against my parents, too certain they weren’t as accepting as they hinted. I didn’t own the fear of losing permanence with my parents but simultaneously it was mine. I could’ve had the most accepting parents (I did!) and most accepting community (I didn’t), but coming out would still feel as though I’d buried a foot six feet under. It was because of the unacceptance and discrimination the other queers had to face that irrationally convinced my brain I was going to face the same, even though time and again my parents proved me otherwise.

So while I wasn’t really ought to face the same fear, I still ended up battling with it, because this was the fear cultivated in an oppressed community and watered with the ancient but continuing hatred against them.

I realized then why pride month and the pride march were important, why the straights should feel lucky instead of crying inferiority for not having to host straight marches. It wasn’t only for the queers and their struggles to be heard, but to give—even if only for a moment—the entire community a genuine sense of safety and belongingness.

A moment of congruence with the world that had shunned them. Give them space and time where they could be true to themselves without getting held back and caught up by their fears.

A moment to culminate the movement and remind everyone the queers were not giving up on justice, that they would fight the many forms of violence until everyone could live without fear because a queer person would know what fear looked like, even if it assumed many faces, because fear was a queer’s companion inside the closet, and many never lived to step out of that claustrophobic metaphorical space and succumbed to the fear.

Everything the queers were fighting for, perhaps, was to eradicate that fear that lurked inside and maybe to destroy the existence of the closet, too.

Now I also understood the importance of why laws had to be passed specifically addressing discrimination against specific oppressed communities; like in the case of the queers, SOGIE Equality, and sex and gender education. I just wished everyone more so the legislative branch of the government could have had this same epiphany, but alas, this country only ever voted majorly for either trash politicians or bigoted religious zealots with misplaced priorities, and the injustices would probably stay and increase in more ways than one for a quite some time.

I looked down at Samuel lying his head on my lap, reading another one of his online-store-brought books that talked about queers coming out of the closet that caged each and every one of us, the silence between us a sweet melody.

“I think,” I said as I played with his hair and felt him nudge his head to tell me he was listening, “that this is one of the things I missed most about us.”

“The silence?”

“Yeah.” I breathed through my mouth, feeling like crying. “It’s always a peaceful kind of silence with you.”

I never had a taste of this silence before I met him. Being alone with my thoughts on the other side of the mirror meant the silence was always loud and oppressive. I was never able to enjoy silence quite like this.

“Wait, give me five minutes to finish this.”

I nodded, aware he couldn’t see me even in his peripheral but certain he knew. Grateful at him for giving me time to compose myself, I peppered his head and face with light kisses, loving the sound of his answering moans and hitched breaths, his obvious anticipation of my lips on his skin. When I couldn’t hold myself back, I bit his neck, making sure to leave a mark.

We’ve never done anything this bold, public display of our affection. Only a few people knew about this place, sure, but to be able to express our love in a public place still thrilled me.

He closed the book with more force than necessary and wiggled his entire body to face me. Without a word, he kissed me and wrapped his arms around my neck. We kissed, and kissed for a while, enjoying the feel of each other’s lips. I’d never get tired of this, of his lips, of his solid body against mine, of him, of us. It’d take an infinity and back to tire me of Samuel.

When he started rotting his lower body against mine, I knew we had to stop, so I gently pushed his body away and rested our foreheads against each other. I’d always fantasized about having sex with Samuel in a public place, but I wasn’t daring enough just yet to check that from the bucket list. Time was on our side though, so I could afford to pass up the opportunity right now.

“What were you reading?” I asked through my quiet panting.

“Love Always, Wild,” he answered, just as breathless, “by A.M. Johnson.”

Without needing to ask him, he continued after catching his breath. “It’s about this writer guy whose closeted boyfriend ghosted him for fifteen years and . . .”

He went on to explain the story to me, giving his thoughts on some parts he liked, parts he hated, parts he related to, parts that reminded him of me, and parts that shared similarities with us.

He sat there, between my cross-legged feet, a few centimeters between our bodies, his eyes glowing from sheer happiness while he opened up his mind to me, the way only talking about the books he’d read could light him up, and I just watched and listened to him talk and talk and talk as I took all of him in, the bliss enveloping us like a fog in the dawn. A thing of lovely ethereal beauty.

As much as I loved having sex with Samuel, and how every sex with him was always beyond satisfying however disastrous and messy some were, it was moments like this that breathed life into me.

Indeed, love and sex weren’t mutually exclusive. Love was a lot more than just sex, though it was so much like rough sex in that you wouldn’t mind the hurt later because you were enjoying it now, and not everyone was going to want it and that was okay. More than that, the intimacy bound lovers beyond the physical, and I was here for that kind of connection with Samuel.

I loved him, simple as that. Simpler even than one plus one equals two. It was just that I made things complicated between us like how I always did with everything in my life, and I’d be forever grateful to him and Him for giving me this second chance at making things right between us.

Perhaps I unknowingly spent all my luck finding my significant other earlier than most, making me unlucky in life except in the love department. I wouldn’t ever complain, however. I’d trade all the worlds in a heartbeat just for a lifetime with Samuel. While some people leave the world without getting to meet the person or persons made for them, I found mine in 7th grade. So perhaps it wasn’t just a maybe and I was indeed lucky, luckier even to be given another shot with him; I wouldn’t take this chance for granted.

I wouldn’t lose him again.

THE END

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