It was 2010 and I started to think I could make art. Trying to share this and learn something, I met Him. He was a russian photographer and the nicest guy ever.
He made me actually believe I could make art, and one day He even printed one of my drawings and hanged it up on his wall – he was glowing in the dark stars on my ceiling, and he lived in Ukraine.
He lived with his mom and had a boyfriend. They would sit together to have tea on the backyard and send me pictures with big smiles.
Video chats became popular by then, we saw each other almost everyday and, though my English was shite, He never got angry when repeating the same thing for the fourth time.
Then things in His country started to change.
He had to break up with his boyfriend.
He had to move to another city and live away from his mom.
He became a kinda sad guy. Like the room was left closed for too long and the stars just stopped shining.
We stopped seeing each other soon after that.
One day, He spent the night in jail. I couldn't understand.
"It's because of love", he said.
I still couldn't understand.
We eventually stopped talking. Not because I couldn't understand, but because of life.
Until a few weeks ago, when I saw Him again. Holding hands with his lover in the airport.
London fog in an empty suitcase.
A sky full of real stars.
Free.
We smiled saying hi.
And then I understood.
He is a sinner, they say.
A filthy one.
Well, I know for sure I would stand up and face god's rage for Him.
And I would wash with bleach the mouth of every motherfucker who dared to tell Him off for holding hands.
And I could sleep on the hard cold ground if it means the policeman couldn't get to Him.
Because they don't know what I know, what He knows.
Because I've seen it. And I believe in it.
Because of love.
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