Stains

Letters to Henri

I am stained. I am broken. Sometimes I wonder why. Why did it have to be this way? Why did it have to be me? Why couldn’t I just meet a beautiful girl and fall in love with her and marry her and have children and raise a family? Why couldn’t I just become a monk or a priest – a religious where my life would have meaning, and where I could be useful?

Why did I have to like other men too?

Those who do not struggle with homosexual inclinations may think I am exaggerating the problem when I should be more concerned about charity, about others. But the way I deal with people is so often colored by sexual affectivity. Even if I tried, there would still be something different.

While two straight men would have no problem being in the same room together, I can’t. While most…

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