ODE TO GOODBYE
This is the ode to goodbye.
It was last month sometime that I met you, and right away I knew I wanted to get to know you more. Maybe it was the appeal that you weren’t involved with the gay social circle of southern California, the connect the dot chart that seems to link everyone to everyone else, or maybe it was the energy that surrounded our meeting since I was the first guy that you met that liked other guys like yourself. Whatever the reason I knew I wanted to know you. And so we talked in the parking lot under the dark sky, the theatre had been a bad place to place conversation with all the “shhhhhh” advertisements before the movie had started. I stood against my car and you stood against yours. It was warm out, typical West Covina weather except for the occasional water drops that fell from the sky and splattered against the metal of our cars.
“Want to talk inside your car?” I had asked, afraid that this thunder storm may take over. “Sure,” he hesitantly stated. We sat in your car, listened to your Emo and Rock music. It seemed to be your style. Classification would put you in something like a greaser, emo, skater ish. It was cute. More than cute, I really was into you. So we talked as you grew more nervous. You had been raised like most Mexican families, deeply devoted Catholics. And to you just simply being here was wrong. You didn’t understand that you could both be a Christian as well as gay, and so your youth you had grown up to hate the way you feel, not so much because you were confused on it, but because you couldn’t be a Christian like the rest of your family was because you felt this way. I gave you a hug, and I saw the fear in your eyes. You needed help, you needed to know that what you feel is okay and God doesn’t make mistakes and you’re this way for whatever reason is planned for you. But you have never given me the chance to help. I’m sorry now that I asked to kiss you on the cheek, that is probably what did you in. It wasn’t because I wanted to hook up with you, I realized that you were too fragile of a masculine guy to do that. I just wanted to reach out to you because I could see you were fighting with yourself. When I kissed your cheek I almost wanted to cry. I have been in your shoes. I know how many nights back in high school I had cried and prayed. “Oh why am I like this?” “Can’t I just be completely straight?” I hope you will get your answer someday.
Now a month later you avoid me. I call. You don’t pick up. I know you listen to my messages, both on the internet and in voice. It’s only human nature to be curious to, even if you aren’t curious enough to answer them. So at this point what do I do? Do I continue to not give up and hope someday you will come around. I’d like to think I could, but I just don’t have the strength too. It hurts me somewhat to be treated in this manner when I was only trying to help. I guess I just have to realize that you’re not ready. You are still stuck in your brainwashed, cultural induced heterosexual lifestyle. I don’t blame you, I understand. And so this is the ode to goodbye. I won’t bother you any more. I am sorry things couldn’t be different but just know that when your ready hit me up, say hello, it would be nice to see that smile on your face once again.
It was last month sometime that I met you, and right away I knew I wanted to get to know you more. Maybe it was the appeal that you weren’t involved with the gay social circle of southern California, the connect the dot chart that seems to link everyone to everyone else, or maybe it was the energy that surrounded our meeting since I was the first guy that you met that liked other guys like yourself. Whatever the reason I knew I wanted to know you. And so we talked in the parking lot under the dark sky, the theatre had been a bad place to place conversation with all the “shhhhhh” advertisements before the movie had started. I stood against my car and you stood against yours. It was warm out, typical West Covina weather except for the occasional water drops that fell from the sky and splattered against the metal of our cars.
“Want to talk inside your car?” I had asked, afraid that this thunder storm may take over. “Sure,” he hesitantly stated. We sat in your car, listened to your Emo and Rock music. It seemed to be your style. Classification would put you in something like a greaser, emo, skater ish. It was cute. More than cute, I really was into you. So we talked as you grew more nervous. You had been raised like most Mexican families, deeply devoted Catholics. And to you just simply being here was wrong. You didn’t understand that you could both be a Christian as well as gay, and so your youth you had grown up to hate the way you feel, not so much because you were confused on it, but because you couldn’t be a Christian like the rest of your family was because you felt this way. I gave you a hug, and I saw the fear in your eyes. You needed help, you needed to know that what you feel is okay and God doesn’t make mistakes and you’re this way for whatever reason is planned for you. But you have never given me the chance to help. I’m sorry now that I asked to kiss you on the cheek, that is probably what did you in. It wasn’t because I wanted to hook up with you, I realized that you were too fragile of a masculine guy to do that. I just wanted to reach out to you because I could see you were fighting with yourself. When I kissed your cheek I almost wanted to cry. I have been in your shoes. I know how many nights back in high school I had cried and prayed. “Oh why am I like this?” “Can’t I just be completely straight?” I hope you will get your answer someday.
Now a month later you avoid me. I call. You don’t pick up. I know you listen to my messages, both on the internet and in voice. It’s only human nature to be curious to, even if you aren’t curious enough to answer them. So at this point what do I do? Do I continue to not give up and hope someday you will come around. I’d like to think I could, but I just don’t have the strength too. It hurts me somewhat to be treated in this manner when I was only trying to help. I guess I just have to realize that you’re not ready. You are still stuck in your brainwashed, cultural induced heterosexual lifestyle. I don’t blame you, I understand. And so this is the ode to goodbye. I won’t bother you any more. I am sorry things couldn’t be different but just know that when your ready hit me up, say hello, it would be nice to see that smile on your face once again.