Someone Who Loves You

 Some time ago I promised to translate this. Now I had enough time. Enjoy! ;) (Mostly because it took me nearly an hour or more to translate this. But it was fun.)

Home

”Home” is a place where I don't want to go. To almost all the others I know place called “home” means safety. Not to me. Yes, I have a home and parents. But it doesn't mean that it would be good to be there. They aren't cruel or fight with each other or drink too much. Nothing like that. No. Between me and them is a different kind of problem: me.

My mother and stepfather are Christians. I'm not. My father wasn't either. He died a few years ago. Mother says I've inherited his sinfulness. Mother and stepfather prayed for me four times a day. They don't do that anymore because they don't think I should get to heaven. They think it's all the same if I go to hell after I die. They think I belong there because I don't believe in God.

I don't care if I'm sinful and will go to hell. I pity those who believe that way.

I get out from the bus. It's night and soon two am. It's become a habit to come home only when they're surely asleep and leave before they'll wake up. They leave me money that I can eat when I'm not home. I don't know how they would spend a hundred to a few meals. That's why I have lots of money. I wouldn't want all that money but because I think they're too rich I won't complain. Like I'd see them ever when they're awake.

The house is quiet when I sneak to the kitchen. On the table there's money as usually but nothing else. I go to my room, fall onto my bed with clothes on and fall asleep.

My problems with mother and stepfather begun when I was thirteen. It didn't happen very fast but I noticed that I had a crush on one girl in our class. It wasn't new to me except when that girl said she liked me back. We started going out. I told mother because she had said she'd love me whatever I'd do. That's why I was shocked when she looked at me angrily and said I was just imagining things. We didn't talk about it but last year when I turned sixteen and had a new girlfriend. Mother didn't like it when she found out. “A woman must love only men”, she said and “the only rightful love is love between a man and a woman”. I've always been thoughtful but then I couldn't stand it. “You don't know a fucking thing about anything”, I yelled right to her face. “MY love's as rightful as yours! My love isn't wrong in any fucking way! MY love is FUCKING beautiful!”

Mother and stepfather got so shocked about it that they refused to talk to me in six months. After that I've almost lived with you. Your parent's are nice. They let us do whatever we want upstairs. They think it's only cute and wonderful we're so in love. They understand pretty well because they're both men. That's one thing why mother and stepfather don't agree with our relationship. But we'll show them. We will get married.

My alarm goes off at five. I get up, walk to the bus stop, wait there for a while and step into it.

My “gay things” aren't the only reasons I don't feel good when I'm home. When I was fourteen my girlfriend left me. She started to bully me. At fist it was only small things but little by little almost the whole class started bullying me. At some point the teachers also tried to put an end to it but it led to that they did it “secretly”. I didn't complain. I didn't cry in front of them. I didn't brake in front of them even though it took almost one and a half year. I cried at home in my own room. I broke alone. I wanted away and I wanted to get rid of that pain. I wanted to die. I tried to die. Many times. I had to go to the hospital few times because of that. But I couldn't die. That relief wasn't granted to me. And nobody took my blades away. Nobody tried to help me. I should've realized already then from mother's eyes that she didn't care about me at all. There was nobody who would've said that I was important. I was told every day that I should die and I believed them. The spring I turned fifteen I didn't fight back if they beat me. I thought that I had deserved it.

I get up from the bus. I walk for a short time and ring the doorbell. Paul opens the door, he always does. He goes to work at six so he's always up when I come.

Everything changed when I met you. It didn't happen in one moment. When I met you I didn't right away say that I wanted to live. You were so nice to me it hurt. It hurt but it was a good pain. Not the kind of pain that comes from a cut in your hand. You were beside me and you were always there. You were with me when I needed you the most. You flushed my blades down from the toilet “because I know how much it hurts”, you said and casually raised your sleeves. You became my only one. You became my dearest. You were beautiful and are still that.

I sneak to your room, take my clothes off and climb beside you under the sheet and wait for you to wake up.

this is the moon...