PHOTOSYNTHESIS

It is a beautiful thing, wanting nothing at all from someone you love because you live with mutual understanding beyond the primal need for physical touch, found in fleeting evenings doomed to end with someone closing the door without looking back. It is a beautiful thing, telling them that you love them over the phone while you’re crying your eyes out because you don’t know what to do now; then you’re laughing until there’s a moment you allow yourself to forget. I remember life before my queer friends, how it felt begging for someone I could see myself in just enough to spark a casual conversation built on genuine interest instead of twisting those unwilling into sharing hyperfixations created for those of us who know what it’s like to have to fight for the ones you love. Falling for your friends, the oldest cliche in the book, is that moment of silence after sharing a look that lingers for a moment too long. It makes the lines start to blur, then get harder to hold on. Queer friendship is like sunlight: burning, golden, bright. It has the power to make time stop, to reinvent the ordinary by embracing it with a willingness to exist. Seldom, however, is it written with the same care and candor as romantic partners of worlds past, despite its limitless potential. To change this, we must go back.