![]() ![]() ![]() I blink, raise my head, and as I do a pair of glasses sink down from my forehead to sit on the bridge of my nose. I wake with my face buried in my arms, drooly cheek pressed to the sleeve of my wool sweater. How, Papi, do I get this woman out of my dreams? By the time the sun is up I snap out of it, but in those hours between 1 and 4 a.m., I seem to lose myself in her world. I lie in bed, in spooning distance of my partner, who I love, wondering if it is, in fact, unnatural and evil to be gay. The worst part is that I wake up believing her. She calls me a fag, tells me that my homosexual lifestyle is evil, and sometimes shape-shifts into one of my middle-school bullies. I feel absurd typing this, but I’ve lost dozens of hours of sleep and many REM cycles to this woman. About a dozen times in the last two weeks, I have dreamt that Amy Coney Barrett is homophobically berating me. ![]()
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