It’s cute when you’re young. It’s sweet seeing two high school sweethearts walking around hands intertwined. You see women smiling at the girl as she laughs and blushes at her boy’s words and jokes. The men root on their young friend, knowing just how important the day was to him.

But in the background, you see several individuals looking after the couple with mixed longing and disgust. You can read it in their eyes. Their sadness is plain in their eyes, for why can these two walk the streets with the ones they love? Especially when they cannot without ducking under the eyes of every other being on the street? How is it fair that those two, man and woman, can be public about their being together while others are forced to tuck away their true selves?

Day by day, no one notices him watching his phone in desperate longing. No one notices his pain as he turns away from the only contact to his sweet lover – only because said being is too terrified to sneak away from his parents and send word he is fine and just as lonely as his beloved.

Hour by hour, not a single caring eye is turned to the woman labeled ‘queer’, ‘dyke’. She raises her gaze to the unforgiving men and women around her and once again ducks her head in pain, wishing only for an understanding eye. Wishing only for someone to lend her an ear and lend her trust and friendship.

A girl sits surrounded by giggling friends, glancing down at her hands every so often, debating whether or not telling those precious few her secret would be alright. Pretending a smile, she turns away from them and promises herself ‘next time, next time I’ll tell them.’

In the locker room, a boy looks up from his gym uniform and to the half-clothed males around him. He smiles as one’s joke, talks sports with the guys on his team. Pulling his shirt over his head, he looks around and truly wonders if saying those two words would be worth it. Friends would be lost; jokes and comfort would be lost to the former friends around the crowded room. He would be shunned; he would be left alone to wade through his fear.

The two exchange glances and slightly shake their heads to signal: once again their dreams of coming out have not come true.

Every day is the same. Every day is spent debating the same question. Every day ends in silence.

The year’s pass and one girl takes her secret to the grave, glad the blade had saved her such misery.

A boy succeeded in telling his best friend, but could not live with the silence and discomfort now making up their days. He was not afraid when he jumped.


Yet they all wonder, ‘Why didn’t they just tell us?’ Think for a second. Don’t judge me.