you
you
I've never loved so deeply. I met, he was my true love. Together, hands entwined, the
infinite avenues of possibility open wide in our hearts. We dare to live fully and
free, fighting the borders that tried to divide us, making our love dangerous and
possible. We were lovers in exile. I met, he could never go home, not as a gay man.
His sexuality brought shame to his family. Our lives, our love, scandals at the
antiquated barrier to choose freely. If he went home, he would either be forced to
live a life that was not his, be tortured, or die. His family would never accept him
as a gay man, and it tore him apart. In coming out, he'd crossed an invisible
line that was unforgiving. I only hoped for a life together was to move elsewhere,
somewhere on the other side of that line that separates me from my love, the
dead from the living. It's where we spent our last days together. The only place in
our part of the world that didn't have laws against us. But there are laws that
supersede government laws. People's beliefs are the only real law. I met's
family believed his life was immoral, bad, illicit, the worst of the worst. They
ushered him death threats five months before they murdered him. The police,
they would not bear any protection. We lived in constant fear, always aware that
our end was a possibility. Our open love for each other committed the worst
crime. It marred his family's honor and reputation. They desperately wanted him
to come home and cleanse their family's name. He loved his family, but he had
eaten the fruit of knowledge and love. We could grow old no other way than
together. He and I, our lives together, moving and creating. We held each other,
hoping, praying, and loving, and loving, and loving, and loving, and loving. We did
our best to live our lives. We dreamed about our future together. We made love.
I kissed him. I held him. I looked long into his eyes. We could only hope for the
best as our doom approached. Honor killings are mostly done to women. We
didn't think of it happened to us.
I would like to think his father didn't want to do it. Maybe he had to. It's
possible Amet's father was being tortured and beat up by other believers,
intimidating him into killing his only son. Amet was killed on July 16, 2008. He
was 26. His dad, he traveled more than 600 miles to fire five shots at a son. The
neighbors watched through the windows and did nothing more. Amet, after being shot
in an attempt to escape, he tried to drive away as his life was leaving him. He
was a victim of the country's deepening friction on the border between an
increasingly liberal society and its entrenched conservative traditions. He
died struggling to live in love openly and freely for crossing a border that
exists only in the human mind. A border that can be whatever we want to be.
Be free!
