The Mystery of Love.

The only voice I must hear clearly is my own.

I have regrets. I think I always will.

I never wanted a girlfriend.

I once had sex with a woman ... two actually. One was innocent; a coming of age tryst. The other was a promise to say goodbye to myself for twenty-three years.

We were cozy enough inside our bedroom, a stack of bunks three high. But our home was made of driftwood, and together, we floated down Midnight’s river with unsettled eyes and un-compassed hearts.

Love often requires that we walk in someone else’s shoes…or in this case, their heels.

Many friends backed away quietly…and I had to accept that.

Little girls grew up dreaming of the men they'd marry, playing make-believe wedding. They’d find a stray piece of bridal tulle from their mother’s sewing room, fashion a skirt or veil, and march down the aisle toward a make-believe man, confident their dream would one day be a reality. I wish I could go back and dream that dream.

You don’t need to hide in the shadows of your churches. If they preach a message that shuts you out—that says you are not okay exactly as you are—challenge them on it. Call it out. And if they persist, find a spiritual community that will welcome and celebrate you as the child of God you are.

I can’t do life without her. I simply don’t know how. The thought of her not being around one day—the audacity that she could somehow be sucked out of this world—is absurd.