"My Favorite September"
When I met him, he was anything but charming. From his obvious obsession with my ex-girlfriend to his unapologetic jokes, I couldn't help but give him the cold shoulder. I didn't know it then, but that was the same shoulder he'd rest his head on, limbs twined and everything. Upon meeting him, I saw a boy who lacked any sense of self. Upon knowing him, I recognized his loneliness. I felt it too. It went beyond proximity. This seclusion we felt, it was existential. And yet, the glow of a gibbous moon waned when we were together. Suddenly, it wasn't judgment I felt toward him. It was love. Of course, I called it friendly love for the sake of sound doctrine, but there was nothing sound about it. I kept my longing silent, afraid that if I openly loved a man, I'd lose the remnant of purity I still had. With each moonrise, he became my favorite memory, and "I love you" became my favorite contronym. He said he loved me, and I said I loved him. The same words with...