The Beauty in the Ruins: A Queer Middle Age Man Reflection on Love, Loss, and Longing

Most people don’t get it — not really.

But for someone like me, a queer man whose heart beats in fashion and dreams in color, inspiration can arrive from the most unexpected corners.

This time, it came from Rome. Or rather, Emily in Paris, Episode 10, Season 4.

Who would’ve thought a binge-watch would crack open something in me?

I didn’t expect to fall for Italy all over again.
But suddenly, I was there again — lost in the echo of Rome’s ancient ruins, my breath taken away by a pizza in Venice, and Florence... oh Florence, where even the air feels like poetry.

It wasn’t just the cities. It was the flirtatious charm of Italian men. The ease in their smiles. The casual way they make you feel wanted — even if just for a moment.

And that’s when it hit me — something I’ve never dared say out loud.

I've never been in love. Not once.
And yet, I've never felt truly lonely either.
Strange, right?

Still, there’s a kind of ache, watching lovers chase each other with reckless abandon on a screen.
I wonder — what does it feel like to be desired so deeply, someone would cross oceans for you?
To be pursued, not as a conquest, but as a poem worth reading again and again?

Love has always looked like a beautiful rose to me — lovely from afar, but dangerous to hold.
Maybe I’ve avoided it. Maybe it’s avoided me.
At 45, I’m not sure if I want to be found, or if I fear being a burden — especially with my health, especially with this feeding tube that has become a part of me.

People don’t see it.
Not being able to eat — it is a kind of disability.
Travel, once my passion, now feels like a fairy tale I can only watch from the window.
Because what is Italy without pasta? Japan without sushi?
How do you roam the world when you can’t even taste it?

Still, something in me stirs.
Despite the challenges.
Despite the pain.
I want to see the world again — even if it’s just with my eyes, not my tongue.

I live in a limbo.
Between what was, and what could be.
But I haven’t given up. Not yet.

Brick by brick, I built my life.
Not a palace. A sanctuary.
And though illness came like a wrecking ball,
I’ve learned — even ruins can hold beauty.

I owe much to the Buddhist teachings that keep me tethered to now.
That remind me: even in suffering, there’s meaning.
Still, I long for some taste of the samsaric world — even if fleeting.

Maybe I’ll never eat pizza again.
Maybe I’ll never fall in love.
But maybe... that’s okay.

Because:

“It’s the cracks that let the light in.” – Leonard Cohen

I’ve learned to find diamonds in the dust.
To see wonder in the things that didn’t go to plan.
And though the door to what I once had may have closed —
Another door always opens.

So here I stand, no longer hiding behind bricks.
I won’t wait to be whole to live.

Let the pain remind me I’m alive.
Let the beauty rise from the ruins.

Even if it's just me, alone