do you remember how you were afraid? when the midnight air felt too dense in your lungs
and the shadows of the trees clouded your vision?
your mother never understood your queerness
she held you cautiously
an hourglass of her muslim upbringing running out before her eyes
you took my fingers and traced them against
the neem branches where we made our makeshift home
when we heard the city stirring
you asked me to picture an alternate reality
where we didn’t have to pretend perfect anymore
where i didn’t need glasses
and your mother’s repulsion
slackened its grip and learned some things will still exist
no matter how much you disbelieve
where i finally learnt how to play the ukulele
and the corner store next to the masjid never stopped selling that unbranded chocolate milk
somewhere you got a chance to love a girl
with pink cheeks and a gummy smile the size
of a supernova
a girl whose eyes looked like home
and made your shame softer, easier to swallow

somewhere, she squeezed your hand till your knuckles turned white
somewhere we talked of the future
boldly
bravely
boisterously
and the sunrise embraced our bodies like an old friend