I don’t believe in proof or tests of faith, I don’t think they matter, or have half so much to them as the trust you hold inside yourself without a steel cocoon of facts and figures and things you can touch to keep it safe and warm. Trust is something we put on other people ourselves, they have no part in it, no choice in the matter and if you want to keep trust alive you have to breathe life into it yourself, that’s up to you - to test it is to abandon it. I trusted my father to love every part of me, but never presented him with all the inches of my life, I didn’t need to. He never let me down and I never asked him to.
But the honesty of other people is galling sometimes, kisses on the street and unchecked words and birthday cards and never having to examine every word you say before you say it. I never wanted to leave home; to throw myself on the mercy of easily honest strangers but people grow old and things change and I don’t - leaving home became inevitable. A longer life has always been the second secret, what’s shameful about a face that doesn’t fall apart as the years move on, about a body that stays strong, a girl who just keeps going? What’s anything about it. Gay is better and worse all at once, a whole world of heartache and beautiful faces I’ve held, I’ll hold in my hands and sex and fear and everything unfair.