anon_j_anon

we are in Brooklyn
surrounded by hipsters, as one often is in Brooklyn
the music in this cafe is rhythmic
relentless
repetitive
it fills the silence between us

that's all I can think about--
how the silence grows between us.
there was a time when we loved to talk
about God
about life in this city
I wonder if we're jaded
if our lives have finally reached that point where they can no longer intersect

I want to blame you for the silence, thinking
if only you'd love me
the way I want you to love me
which is to say homosexually.
I'm sure you blame me similarly:
if only I'd never made that choice.
you told me it was a choice.

I feel vicious and I want to expose your secrets
I feel selfish and afraid so I tell the world--
your father died of AIDS
your mother is alive, AIDS-less
a good man, a church man, a faithful man
he was fucking, being fucked
by another or several men and you say:
it's a choice.
you say it's a choice

the silence and the damnable music grows between us
I thought we shared books and tea but now I know
we were only using it to cover this inevitable silence
our affair-- I'm calling it an affair to spite you--
you'd never believe me to be so petty and vindictive--
our affair is a bloodless one
without sex
without saying
it would condemn you in my choiceless choice

God brought us together
I remember the days when faith burned in me as strong and pure as it did you
God brings us apart:
apparently my faith was weak
apparently I am the unfaithful one in this affair
the God we worshiped has always been jealous
unable to stand a menage a trois

I want you to know
I gave up my faith-- it was my choice.
because I was selfish and driven in self.
you were right.
it was a choice.

I know you think I made the wrong choice
I don't regret it
I don't regret loving you
and the evenings we spent together before silence came between us
how can we be stuck in a relationship so bloodless?
our silence is a choice
my silence is a choice
because God is precious to you

I realize-- I should have fought for you
I should have made a claim on you, though you are not a person who enjoys claims being made
I was afraid that I would lose you entirely but I see--
I'm losing you anyway.
I'm sure you feel the same way about me, in reverse, through a mirror
I'm sure you thought I'd come back to God
I made you enough half-hearted promises, at any rate
maybe it was never you who I lost, but me who was lost by you.

I know many people have come and gone in your life
you hold many connections.
I won't ask you to remember me.
I think back on the time we spent together
I still think of us as parts in a whole
but we need sound.
this silence fills the time we spend and I find myself wanting
to remember you in the past, rather than the present.
we have no future.

this is the impassable thing between us
I should have seen how the one principle that united us could draw us apart again.
I won't say I don't mourn.
but we both of us made our choices.
I loved you-- it was a wonderful thing.
I wonder, looking back, if you ever did offer me anything more than friendship
nothing was said, nothing was promised or claimed
I wonder if that was my mistake
or if I wasn't ready to face the fact:
that you'd choose God over me
I had hopes-- I know I had hopes
but exactly what was I hoping for?
that you'd say yes and kiss me?
that we'd have love in the flesh and worship God together?
if it wasn't you, it would have been them forcing us to choose.

that's what you said:
we always have a choice.
I know you think it's a choice
to be gay, or godly
I pretend you actually meant:
we will always have to make a choice.
this is not a passive identification.

the thing I come back to is--
we met four years ago.
you told me your father died when you were young
you told me your mother remarried, and your stepfather was abusive
you told me you were thrown from a horse
you told me your sister tried to kill herself
and there was a pious man at church who turned out to be a child molester
you told me this when we barely knew each other
but it was four years before you told me your father died of AIDS, and everything that implies.
you only told me because I told you.
you told me, after you told me it was a choice.

the thing I come back to is--
you sounded ashamed.  or hunted.  or scared.
something you've buried deep and tried to forget
I come back to the fact that you're fearless, but for this.
I can't pretend to understand.
I love you, but I can't pretend to know what it meant.
I wondered if all your choices were already made
by a funeral fourteen years ago.

I hope you find that someone you're always looking for:
the one you can marry and show their face to God
I should have been honest with you:
the day they stop preaching about the perversity of homosexuality is the day I might return
I should have been honest with you:
I am not waiting for that day.
that is my choice.


and
if you ever read this--
I hope you never do--
I ask forgiveness
for shouting to the world
what I should have said to you