coming-of-age

He shook his head and thought about it for a second. __aybe I'm not straight? Can I still be straight when I'm sitting here looking into your eyes?_ he asked. Maybe it was the alcohol talking or maybe he wasn't as straight as he thought he was.__es. Absolutely._ Cormag nodded and watched him closely.__ven when I think they're so pretty? They are, you know. So many different shades of brown_and a little green. Just a touch; not a lot. So pretty._ He sighed happily, watching those dark eyes staring back at him in surprise. He lay his head on his arms, smiling at the way Cormag flushed in embarrassment and turned his full attention onto his bottle of beer.__ow, you are super drunk.

Lachlan frowned as he misjudged the distance and his forehead hit Cormag's head with a bump. He wrapped his arms around his neck to steady himself, two big hands reaching up to hold onto his arms as if to offer extra support. __ou,_ he began, talking quietly into his ear, __re so beautiful,_ he confessed, resting his heavy skull against Cormag's for a moment.He meant it as well. Cormag was stunning. He was taller and broader than he was, very much the fine figure of hotness. His dark hair was well kept, but a little messy, he had amazing bone structure; the type that made him look more like a model than a museum manager. A chiselled jaw, nicely defined cheekbones and a rugged quality thatmade him so appealing. He had never noticed how handsome a male face could be until those eyes drew him in.__nd so are you,_ his companion chuckled, __ut we discussed this_I've ruined every relationship I've ever had. I get needy, possessive and my baggage gets in the way.Besides,_ he lowered his voice to a whisper and brushed his hand over his upper arm, __ou're not gay,_ he protested, reminding him yet again that they were different.__ope. Not gay,_ he agreed with that, nodding his head as he pulled back a little to see him better. __ut that doesn't make you any less beautiful. Why is it wrong that I can see how special you are?_ he asked, having difficulty understanding why part of his brainwas telling him he was being a drunken idiot and that the man before him wasn'tattractive. But the rest of his brain _ about ninety-eight percent of it _ was telling him that he was the most attractive person he'd ever seen.__t's not, Lachlan. It really isn't.___ut it's somehow wrong for me to tell you?_ Lachlan wondered, glancing across the bar to see Matteo smiling at him. He didn't know what it meant.Cormag cupped his face, capturing his undivided attention again. __o. Not thateither. But it makes it hard for me to keep my distance. You're stunning. Inside and out,_ he claimed, with chocolatey eyes that said he meant every word.

Cormag caught his hand and pulled him back until they were facing each other. __ think you're amazing,_ he said, blurting the words out.Lachlan smiled, completely shocked and thrilled by how captivating he found him.He had never thought this could happen to him, that he would be attracted to another boy.He thought he knew himself so well.__ think you're smart, sexy, funny as hell. You have hidden depths, Lachlan. You only need the right person to coax you out of your protective shell,_ he claimed.__re you the right person?_ Lachlan wondered, as he took a half step forward.Cormag took a deep breath and brushed at a strand of hair that was sticking out at a funny angle from behind the top of his ear. He tugged at his short hair every time he talked about his recent break up. He was such a dork.

Please_ Whoever you are, whatever you are_ I believe in you even though I don__ completely understand you. I feel you around me even though I can__ exactly describe what I__ feeling. Sometimes things happen to me and I know that you__e there and I__ humbled by the lack of coincidence that exists in the world. Whatever you want from me, it__ yours _ just please help me. You know how I get when I lose control, and I find myself constantly being pulled back there these days.

I__e always seen this in you, ever since you were a little girl _ this hunger to love other people into their highest selves and it__ what has made me irreversibly and just so forever in love with you.

I__e grown up defined by this desperate, undeniable, __an__ breathe_ kind of space inside of myself and I__ afraid that the diagnosis is fatal.

Something, somewhere, knows what__ best for me and promises to keep sending me people and experiences to light my way as long as I live in gratitude and keep paying attention to the signs.

I fantasize the night sky to be like a cosmic blue print of my life as I close my eyes and unbutton my heart_. just in case anyone up there is listening.

Does our purpose on Earth directly link to the people whom we end up meeting? Are our relationships and experiences actually the required dots that connect and then lead us to our ultimate destinies?

I look out into the water and up deep into the stars. I beg the sparkling lanterns of light to cure me of myself _ my past and the kaleidoscope of mistakes, failures and wrong turns that have stacked unbearable regret upon my shoulders.

Sitting in the wicker rocking chair with her interrupted work in her lap, Amaranta watched Aureliano José, his chin covered with foam, stropping his razor to give himself his first shave. His blackheads bled and he cut his upper lip as he tried to shape a mustache of blond fuzz, and when it was all over he looked the same as before, but the laborious process gave Amaranta the feeling that she had begun to grow old at that moment.

...for they was never a young man yet who don't want to go out and right a wrong, or kill a man, or have to do something to earn his right to what is there for the taking, all along. Only he don't think he can ask, nor take, without earning it. Without no pain. Oftener than not, a young man's a regular fool.

When you're finally a grown-up, one of the things you find is that there are no grown-ups.

Lots of teenage girls have taken comfort under the wings of half-closeted gay boys.

Jess is painfully aware of how young she is. Her shirtsleeves don't quite extend to her wrists; after a growth spurt last summer, her debate clothes don't fit as well as she thought. She feels as if she's playing dress-up.

And I envy you. You have the one thing that matters. You have all your discoveries before you.

She had a woman__ swagger at twelve-and-a-half. Hair: strawberry-blonde, and I vaguely recall a daisy in the crook of her ear. She was an inch taller than me, two with the ponytail; smooth cheeks and darling brown eyes that marbled in luscious contrast with her magnolia skin; cream, melting to peach, melting to pink. She beamed like a cherub without the baby fat; a tender neck; pristine lips that would never part for a dirty word. Her body--of no interest to me at the time--was wrapped from neck to toes with home-made footie pajamas, the kind they make for toddlers, but I didn__ laugh; the girl filled that silly one-piece ensemble as if it were couture.

94 was a good year to be twelve. Star Wars still had two more years as Box Office King, cartoons were still hand-drawn, and the Disney "D" still looked like a backwards "G." Words like "Columbine," "Al Qaeda" and "Y2K" were not synonymous with "terror," and 9-1-1 was an emergency number instead of a date. At twelve years old, summer still mattered. Monarch caterpillars still crawled beneath every milkweed leaf. Dandelions (or "wishes" as Mara called them) were flowers instead of pests. And divorce was still considered a tragedy. Before Mara, carnivals didn't make me sick.