Dear Person of Ambiguous Gender,

I first saw you in college. You were but an aberration among the sea of frat boys in plaid shorts and Asians in textbooks. A welcome respite from the JAPs on their cellphones and the hippies on their mescaline. You passed like a cool breeze on a hot day in your knee length carpenter shorts and your laceless skater shoes; your hair cut short, dyed slightly and parted to the side, riding high on your square back neck. You caught my eye and for a second I caught yours before you returned to your ska music or Annie Lennox or whatever it was. You captured my heart.

I then moved to Manhattan and you moved with me. I saw you frequently on the subway reading David Sedaris and listening to your I-Pod. You hid yourself from me in your vintage sunglasses and over sized (late 80's) t-shirts, but you couldn't hide from my furtive glance. I thought the world of your uniqueness and was compelled by your individuality.

When I moved to Syracuse you nearly disappeared, I still caught a glimpse of you from time to time but you had put on a great deal of weight, wore ketchup stained hoodies, and frequented fast food restaurants. You had lost something and I feared it might be gone forever.

Now I live in Brooklyn and you abound in the streets of Williamsburg. You've lost all of that upstate weight and wear tight shirts to show off your nubile body. I see you frequently and sometimes you return my inquisitive glances. I love you person of ambiguous gender, I just want to know, does that make me gay?