My Cousin is Straight. I mean, I've always known, questioned it even. Perhaps because he doesn't care what his body language says-he shifts his body weight from knee to knee and puts his hands on his hips when thinking, when waiting. Growing up, I had to watch my body language but he could care less. He's comfortable. He's quiet and reserved too-here I am filling in some inbetweens. A virgo volcano, composed but ready to erupt. The only times the machista in him surfaces are when he punishes my baby cousins by the belt. Their cries echo. Their screams ring. Their pain stinging my heart like their agitated skin.
Anyway, we don't really talk about his heterosexuality. I haven't seen him in five years til now. We've missed out a lot on each other's lives but I know he loves me. It's an unspoken thing among boy heteros, to talk about love or whatever. To randomly embrace each other in hugs because it feels nice- because I'll never have this moment again, like this-because I understand the value of your presence in my presence, your existence-because lord knows when the next time I'll be here again. years. weeks upon months dissolved into each other.
See, my cousin is straight and I don't know how to tell him I love him. At times I can, in small mannerisms like flicking his ear or smacking the back of his neck. That's become our language. But there's so much more that goes unspoken. Am I asking for too much? In an open mestizo world we'd work through our demons together to uplift the divine masculine in us regardless of where we fall on the spectrum.
But we weren't taught to release. Only repress. Release, but through rage. To be self contained until we over flow, until we spill. Because the hetero world says be strong on your own.
I just want to let him know I accept him for who he is, silenced broken goods, with his vulnerabilities and all.
