I know I am in a place in life where meeting new guys is self-care. I know that guy I met today, who asked about my past, about my walking cane, about why I wake up in the morning, asked all this slightly drunk at Balboa Park before he hugged me so hard I wished he wouldn’t be able to let go—I know meeting him was good for me. I know the crush I have on the amateur horror writer who likes how I suck dick is a healthy thing to have. I know I am moving on from you.
And I know when I first started declaring myself a priest based on a throw away line in a Stevie Nicks song, I wasn’t just being facetious, I was rebuking everything that the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints taught me as a child that was hypocrisy.
That is why I know, to move on from you—to move on and still be the me, the priest who I am—means I still have to think about you, to pray on your behalf for all those things in your life that even an asshole like you doesn’t deserve to have to suffer.
I know I still have to love you, if not be in love with you. I know that God is dead but he left us here to heal his wound, this existence, this world itself. And right there, in that last little vast spot of my heart that knows all that—that is where I do.
I still love you.