I’m not hung-over. I don’t know if I should be. Should five shots of Vodka leave you hung-over? I guess not. So it’s Sunday morning and I’m at my desk, writing this, wishing for a hangover. A headache is a nice distraction from thoughts you don’t want in your head.

But there is no headache and the thoughts have made themselves at home.

There is a boy behind me. It is thoughts about him I’m running from. I guess I should have known this was a bad idea. After all, I’ve never been good at sports.

I will call him Half Smile. I get the name from the expression on his face when we make love – excuse me – when we fuck. It is curious smile. Shy, self conscious, mischievous and outright diabolical at the same time. It is also a perfect disguise to mask all the raging lust burning inside him.

Half Smile and I have basically spent each day of the last two months together. These days have been great. They have been the best, most complete moments I have spent with another human. Every touch held meaning, every kiss touched my soul and each conversation strengthened our connection even more. Half Smile had come out of nowhere and became the sun in my solar system. Everything revolved him.

It is not these thoughts I’m running from. It is memories of last night’s conversation with him. The one we had in that surreal ride back home after a night of drinking, smoking and dancing to horrible Nigerian music. The one where emboldened by all the alcohol in my bloodstream, I confessed I was too deep in love with him. The one where I told him I wanted something a little more than the sex and the conversations. The one where he received my little revelation with an expressionless face. The one where he said he can’t be in a relationship with a dude, that he doesn’t know how to. The one where he said he’s already at his limit with how far we have gone. The one where he quietly killed my hope of finding sex, romance, commitment and love with him. Those are the thoughts I’m running from on this utterly hopeless Sunday morning.

Written by Bruno

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