Reading makes me sad

Let me rephrase that. Reading sad things make me sad.

I’m currently in the middle of a surprisingly good gay-themed novel called Where You Are by J.H. Trumble. It’s about the a young high school teacher and his growing relationship with one of his math students. Most of the time, when I read gay novels or watch gay-themed films, I don’t care if people get together or ruin their lives because a lot of the time, it’s predictable. And after a while of watching so many similar films, it becomes more and more difficult to actually care for the characters and to be on their side. In this novel, I’m finding myself on both these two characters’ sides. Their love for each other is so obvious, so pure that I want them to get together– and yet, because of their teacher-student relationship, I became super scared when things started to get too intimate.

That’s all backstory to my explanation as to why I’m sad, which is that I’m at a part in the novel where the teacher has vowed to disconnect himself from his student, as he just found out his student is underage. It makes me sad because I like both of them, yet I can understand why they can’t be together. Although it’s a young adult novel, I don’t know that they will be together in the end, but I sure as hell hope so. Or else I’ll be sad for days…