Kurt's Monologue

June 28, 1970 Kurt arrived at the cemetery just as the first few orange rays of daylight were peeking out of the sky. He smiled the slightest bit to himself when he realized that he could see the multitude of flowers that had been placed on Blaine's grave from about a hundred feet away. He'd lived in New York for a while now, but Kurt still made a point of coming here to visit Blaine about once a month or so, and he'd never seen the grave without flowers. He knelt down on the grass in front of the headstone, gently moving some of the flowers aside. To his own bouquet of dark red roses, Kurt had attached a small note that simply read Love, your Kurt. He was the only person who ever brought roses. "Good morning, sweet boy," he whispered, leaning down to kiss Blaine's name in the center of the smooth stone. "Happy Gay Liberation Day." He placed his bouquet front and center, partially obscuring the two dates that were tragically too close in time. February 5, 1940 – November 4, 1956. "I like the word 'gay,' I think," Kurt pondered aloud. "I like that it also means 'happy.' They've been using it more and more over the past few years. It sounds so much better to me than
"I'll admit that when I was first asked to be the keynote speaker today, I agonized quite a bit over what I should talk about. I must have written about ten first drafts of completely different speeches. But then all of a sudden, almost out of nowhere, it hit me. I knew exactly what – or who – I wanted to talk about today." He smiled sadly. "Ladies and gentlemen, I'd like to tell you about my late boyfriend. To the rest of the world, he was a teen heartthrob and an international pop icon. But to me, he was the sweetest, most loving person I've ever known, and he's the one who inspired me to embrace myself exactly as I am with no regrets. He was the one and only Blaine