It's dark again in my room. The clock reads 3:16 am, so there's no doubtk why it's dark. The house is silent too. But I can't make a noise, for fear of being heard by those who are awake.
My name is Noah. I'm 16, a hopeful poet and a girl with a secret.
Nobody knows I'm gay.
I shuffled round in bed to face the ceiling. The dark bluish black of the paint stared dully back at me. It wasn't uncommon, nights like this, of staring at the ceiling and hoping that an answer would come to me. The question varied. I suppose at times it was "why don't I think boys are attractive" then "why am I different" then "am I gay" then "why am I gay" and so on and so forth until I fell asleep. Tonight it was "why?".
It started last spring, when the daffodils were blooming...
YOU ARE READING
Bumble bee
Romance"What's your favourite colour?" "yellow" And in that moment, yellow was mine too.
