I am looking across the street from here and there’s a boy walking along a fence jutting out a few metres from a house, his cronies cheering. The sway of his arms, the concentration in his eyes looking down a bit. . . the somewhat smile on his lips. I cannot hear what the boys are saying, I do not know if he has a nickname, what it is, if they call it.
But, I think he is beautiful.
Because he, balancing on a fence and trusting one foot after another, for his friend’s sake, for his ego’s sake, captures a beautiful moment in the universe of what it means to be male. I smile at these thoughts, turn my head to my computer and in my mind the boy and his friends go away. I refuse to look back up.
There is a sort of fear, I know no better word, that the nostalgia for youth, inspires. I know.