Camaraderie
from Heart-Shaped Hands.
Our camaraderie did not go unnoticed
or untested.
“You’re friends with Him,”
felt like I personally offended them, somehow;
these shadows on the outskirts of both our lives.
A simple “yes,” was never enough.
No one shared the curiosity I held for the boy next door.
He was not a fascinating oddity,
but a blight on their extended social network.
The status quo grew queasy,
pulsing like an unsightly pimple
seconds from bursting.
At first, it felt like an avoidance
to rely on facts like our proximity,
our age, gender, sexuality.
They cared nothing for our shared interests,
so I leaned farther into the pre-constructed reality
that we were always meant to know each other—
like I dreamed about as a child.
“We’ve been neighbors for a decade, of course we’re friends.”
As much as one had never related to the other,
the more I said it,
their persistent questioning subsided
and my resolve…
