Speaking of you...

I spoke about you to K today. She thinks I'm mad. 'Do you know what Christians think about people like you?', was her essential argument. Sadly, she's probably right. I felt vaguely angry with her for suggesting it. You might be fine with my loving women. You might accept. You might accept me in your arms.

If you wanted to, but were scared, I know what I'd say. I'd say that I didn't know whether God exists or not, but that if it does, then it must have better things to do than administrate relationships based on sexual organs. Babies are dying in the Sudan, it can't be more important that two people adore each other and want to be together but have the wrong genitalia. You might say that this could be a test. I would ask what the test was. To leave me, and be with someone you didn't love because they had the right parts, and make two people live a loveless life, or to tell everyone something really difficult and be happy with someone who adores you. God made all things bright and beautiful, apparently. Why should they be hidden away? I'd say, lastly, that when I am with you I feel vulnerable. I feel like I want to tell you the beautiful truth, all the time, even when it's not beautiful. I am truthful, generally, but I want to be more so with you. I want you to know everything I'm thinking. I want to be strong because of you, I want to protect you, from what I don't know, I want to hold you and I want to be vulnerable with you. I want to be kinder to people. I want to be brave. All because of you. How could that be bad, darling? How could any of that be a sin?

In any case, it's hopeless. You're across the channel, a believer and most probably in love with that accountant, who knows about maths and languages. Something in me hardens when I get told that it's impossible to have you, though I am slowly accepting it. I just want you so badly at the moment. You make me choke with laughter and you're shy and sharp and your gaze makes me stall. I want to look at the pictures of you and me. I want...