Burned In The Back Of My Mind

For years I've had the same image burned into my mind. I am sitting in a studio apartment in New York City. I am grown, graduated from college, and living on my own. The cramped apartment feels strangely huge in its vacancy, it's brick walls lit only by a single florescent bulb that hangs above the table. Wind and snow whip past the windows, the chill seeping into the room through the cracks. I push the food from my microwaved meal around the plate with disinterest. I repeatedly glance at my watch until its face reads midnight. "Merry Christmas," I say to no one in particular. I am alone, disowned, and unwanted on a holiday meant to be spent with family and close friends. "But it's your fault" they'd say. "You were the one who chose to be gay."