“Devil Cry” by Diego Lorrén, age 21

Forthwith his stare, Gustav didn’t hesitate.
He could look at you for hours and you would lower your head before such a presence.
An incongruity of protruding eyes and an upturned nose.
A mystery we will never completely comprehend.
He was what he was.
We might have even sought each other before meeting “for he was he and I was me.”
I recall the first time I met him. I hadn’t known what to anticipate; nonetheless, I awaited it all.
I awaited the feral blow of his gaze parting out to me every piece of my being. I awaited his words— paused, almost poetic.
I awaited his long fingers and perfectly cut fingernails.
I awaited his fragrance, his dreams, his nightmares.
I awaited the sweet and suffocating silence of that first encounter.

And in that silence... never had I felt such a silence which bordered between uncomfortable and pleasurable.
For an instance I believed to bore him and was prepared to set off running from my feelings.
But regularly he began to speak.
“Don’t flee” he said to me.
DON’T FLEE! Repeated in my head.

So I remained...
I remained in a meeting so meticulously synchronized. An encounter you don’t expect to have when your soul no longer awaits anything from anyone but when it occurs you know it ought to have happened.
I submerged myself in his spectrum of emanated hues and colors. I submerged myself in the river of that mouth which summoned to draw near, little by little. I burned myself by the fire he had been.
He shared with me part of his life, things that with much appreciation I treasured and which I regularly think of before sleeping.
“I did many things” he told me. What were those things? What motivated him to do them?
... Who is he?

An angel or a demon?
Time seemed to paralyze itself. The hours and minutes no longer ran and among the good and the evil he asked of me to take him home.
We walked together without touching nor looking at one another.
Adrift, I walked spellbound alongside my chico as if deep within our hearts had loved each other a thousand and one times.
We arrived at the door and he bid me goodbye with a handshake.
Why this cynicism? I asked in my head.

We parted slowly as if we didn’t want to leave.
I was leaving him behind forever ... possibly... Could it be we are condemned to flee from our feelings?
Could it be that the Chinese walls of our pride do not allow us to come together to love?
What kind of life is this?
“Escape for your lives” said the lord. Do not look back... escape to the mountains, lest though be perished.” (Genesis 19:17)
Though I couldn’t avoid it, I turned around, my heart desired me to; thereupon, I became salt...
And I knew that he was also looking at me also as if searching for that moment.
My feet turned around and directed themselves towards him absent of any such unsteadiness and almost running I went to him as he too ran. I brusquely took him by the nape of his neck and kissed him.
I kissed him with fury and with desire.
I kissed him before the rotting city.
I kissed him amidst the dead.
I kissed him in the noses of the devil.
And all fear, resentment, hatred disappeared.

And for the first time, only for the first time, I knew what it was to love.

About the piece:

Diego Lorrén's "Devil Cry" explores gay identity through the experience of immigration. As the protagonist is discovering what it means to love motivated by a heart desire, the star-crossed lovers are fighting off a distance that could separate them forever.  

The artist says: "I write about my experiences, about love and how sometimes we can not feel free to love who we want, or we have to hide our feelings because what others think, and we cannot be ourselves because we might offend homophobic people. I also talk about how fear and sadness take us as prisoner and how to overcome from those feelings and build the life we want to live. I have to admit that sometimes we "love" but at the end of the day this person never knew or feel the same. That happened to me with this story even if the boy wanted to love me that night he never did something extra for me.  He never loved me back.  And that's something beautiful too. It teaches you what is not love and takes you closer to love.

My writing likes to play with the word shape and the narrative. I been doing this since i was 12 years old. I would like to inspire other people to pursuit they dreams and work hard on it. We queer people need to get involved in everything that we believe in and never feel afraid of who we are!"

Original text in Spanish:

Gustavo no dudaba al momento de mirar.
Te podía mirar por horas y tú bajarías la cabeza ante semejante presencia.
Era una incongruencia de ojos saltones y nariz respingada.
Un misterio que jamás entenderemos del todo.
Él era lo que era.
Y CREO nos buscábamos antes de conocernos "porque él era él y yo era yo"
Recuerdo la primera vez que lo conocí.
No sabía que esperar, pero esperaba todo.
Esperaba el salvaje golpe de su mirada partiéndome cada parte de mí ser.
Esperaba sus palabras, pausadas casi poéticas.
Esperaba sus dedos largos y uñas perfectamente cortadas.
Esperaba su fragancia, sus sueños, sus pesadillas.
Esperaba el dulce y sofocante silencio de ese primer encuentro.

Y ese silencio... nunca había sentido tal silencio que limitaba entre lo incómodo y lo placentero. Pensé por un instante que lo aburría y estaba listo para salir corriendo de mis sentimientos
Pero regularmente comenzó a hablar.
“No huyas” me dijo
¡NO HUYAS! Se repitió en mi cabeza.

Por lo que permanecí...
Me quede en una cita tan meticulosamente sincronizada. Un encuentro que no pretendes tener cuando tu alma ya no espera nada de nadie pero cuando sucede sabes que debió suceder
Me sumergí en la gama de matices y colores que él emanaba. Me sumergí en el rio de esa boca que invitaba a acercarse poco a poco. Me queme por el fuego que él fue. Compartió conmigo parte de su vida cosas que con mucho aprecio atesoré y que regularmente pienso antes de dormir.

“hice muchas cosas” me dijo.

¿Qué fueron esas cosas? ¿Que lo motivo a hacerlas? ... ¿Quién es?

¿... un ángel o un demonio?
El tiempo parecía paralizarse. Las horas y minutos ya no se contaban y entre el bien o el mal me pidió que lo lleve a su casa.
Caminamos juntos sin tocarnos sin mirarnos. Camine perdido y embelesado a lado de mi chico como si en el fondo nuestros corazones se hubieran amado mil y un veces.
Llegamos a la puerta se despidió con un apretón de manos. ¿Por qué ese cinismo? Pregunté en mi cabeza. Me fui despacio como si no quisiera partir. Estaba dejándolo atrás para siempre... quizás... ¿Acaso estamos condenado a huir de nuestros sentimientos? ¿Acaso las murallas chinas de nuestra soberbia no nos permite juntarnos para amar? ¿Qué tipo de vida es esa?
“Escapa por tu vida”, dijo el Señor, “no mires tras ti... escapa al monte, no sea que perezcas” (Génesis 19:17).

Pero, no pude evitarlo, volteé, mi corazón deseaba volver atrás y me convertí en sal...
Y sabía que él estaba también mirándome también como si buscará ese momento.
Mis pies voltearon sin tambalear hacia a su dirección y casi corriendo fui a su encuentro. Él también corrió. Lo tome bruscamente de la nuca y lo bese.
Lo bese con furia y con deseo
Lo bese frente a la putrefacta ciudad
Lo bese en medio de muertos
Lo bese en las narices del diablo Y todo miedo, rencor, odio despareció

Y por primera vez solo por primera vez supe que era amar.