Men For Men- Gay!

December 01, 2014

(A gay story- urging awareness among homophobes) 

(Sketched replica of Pietro da Cortona’s “the Head of St. Michael")

    It was not for the first time that his heart was beating loud, screaming his emotions flowing down but only loud enough for him to hear. Phen finally reached the park lane street and paralyzed himself for a moment. Goosebumps were promiscuous and a sweat drop flowed from his forehead, passing by the scar that he owned by the cut of a glass few years back, through the corner of his blue eye which shone like never before in the rays of sun and finally dropped into the mud and lost its existence. Summer day of the June and he stood at the aisle with  the desire to finally tell his heart out.
                                                            “This is the day”, his heart was clearly loud and obvious. It was just last night that he drew his entire courage to change the way things were, less compelled by desire but more by the fact that he was growing despair about it. In a society like this, it was hard for a person like him to express but only curb his feelings and whine. But today he was all determined and what looked herculean back then seemed doable today. He smuggled some air in and closed his eyes but not to rethink. He needed to ask and what might come as a response was not to bother him as does the not asking.
                                                       Now he was not far, for all that stood in the way were few mud sunken bricks bordered by the blades of grass which were covered in the morning dew, few scattered pamphlets marking the presence of a politician a few days back, a half broken pot, probably that of the old lady who fetched water on the sunny day and a little mildly withered rose screaming its story loud of when it was thrown away with the disgust on the person who offered it. The sun which was blazing but now has suddenly covered itself with a blanket of clouds like the little kids who are afraid of what might the course of a spooky movie be.
                                                    Overcoming all, he moved straight ahead, covered the gap and put his hand, which shivered in the begging but felt comfortable now, on the shoulder of Arian from behind, who was busy admiring the painting of Pietro da Cortona’s “the Head of St. Michael”. He turned back, his brown eyes were glittering and with a half-smile, on a man who might have been carved by Michael Angelo himself, elegant but strong.
                                                Phen uttered his name, Arian! And fell silent. He could not speak as he matched his eyes with him and felt the same love he had for him. A cold summer breeze, touching them, made them immobile and quiet. Silent like the cold dark nights of the woods, like the calm prayer halls at the hours of apocalypse. But they need not speak now, their eyes said everything, asked, replied, rejoiced. Arian moved closer to Phen and whispered, “Yes! I love you silly, I do!!”

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