gay-lit

You are the love of my life, and I know things will never be easy for us but I’m willing to go through the toughest battles as long as I get to be with you.
—  A. D.

ONE. when i was 7 i would make my barbies kiss. one blonde. one brunette. it was the closest i could get to love at that age. my mama would watch me and crinkle her nose. after weeks of witnessing, she finally got me a ken doll for my birthday. he went untouched most the time. i don’t know what it was. his creepy plastic face, or the fact i didn’t think he was pretty. maybe it was because he didn’t have long hair.

TWO. when i was 8 i told my dad about my best friend. i said she had pretty long eyelashes, they curled up at the ends toward her dark eyebrows. her eyes were hazel, drops of green hinted behind the brown. i said i stared at her lips a lot. they were usually red, she ate a lot of candy, chewed a lot of gum. he said i should stop staring at girls like that, they might think i’m weird.

THREE. at 9 years old my best friend told me she had a crush, he was a little tanned boy with black hair and blacker eyes. we both had black hair, it was the first thought that popped into my head. i asked my mama if i could cut my hair, she said no way, i’d look like a boy. why would i wanna look like a boy? i didn’t want to look like a boy, i, i don’t know.

FOUR. 10, 11, or 12? i can’t remember which year i had my first crush, maybe because it didn’t matter. it didn’t matter until i was 13. i was 13 and the first time i understood the phrase, “butterflies in your tummy” was when i saw her. i was happy. i was sad. i was sad because i didn’t feel this way about boys. i was sad because i couldn’t gossip about boys the way my friends did. i felt different. sad.

FIVE. i was 14 when my dad asked me if i had any boyfriends, i shrugged, no. he looked relieved? my mama didn’t. whenever my mama looked at girls holding hands, boys holding hands, she’d get that crinkled nose again. i felt that crinkle in her soul, whenever she looked at me.

SIX. 15, i swallowed feelings. 16 i swallowed pills. 17, i threw up the truth. i was at dinner with my parents, i told my mama i liked girls. my dad dropped his fork. my mama, she thought she dropped me, as a baby. everything changed, i’m sorry mama.

SEVEN. my mama doesn’t look at me the same way anymore, that crinkle is always there, it’s like a crack in our relationship, the one broken piece that keeps stabbing at me. my dad, i think he’s more relieved i like girls than boys. he always said boys were trouble. i use to be sorry, but i can’t be sorry for my feelings. i won’t be sorry about who i love, and, i love her.

—  i.c. // “I told you I liked girls, now you don’t like me.”
I haven't read Carry On but from gushing tumblr posts I've guessed the following:

1. That Baz guy has a fucking ridiculous(ly awesome) name
2. He’s super gay for that Simon dude
3. Simon has a tail???
4. Simon is blonde, Baz is a goth (maybe??) so perfect couple aesthetic
5. Some chick called Penelope is around too
6. There’s magic…I think??
7. The Mage is a douche
8. Really fucking gay

Su nombre es Manolo y se enamoró de su mejor amigo. De las risas de domingo. De la constelación de estrellas que formaban sus pecas. De cuando se quedaba a dormir en sus lunares. De la forma en que lo miraba cuando dormía. De las veces en las que tropezó y su mano fue la única que lo ayudó a salir de la negrura de la noche. De cuando se partió llorando y él estuvo a su lado, soportando sus noches imposibles y su estoy bien inestable. De las 999 razones para estar con y le prendió fuego a lo que se le había impuesto desde niño: enamorarse de una niña.

Se enamoró del que era cuando le hacía reír hasta olvidarse de los días en que estuvo triste. De esos abrazos en los que se armaba algo más que una vida. De las canciones que le mandaba y llevaban adjunto: ésta me recordó a ti. De cuando era invierno y él era su único e inmortal verano.
Las páginas en blanco las escribía, a veces con lágrimas al pensar que su amor no sería correspondido, otras veces con una sonrisa al imaginar lo bonita que es su vida al tenerlo cerca. Allí. Al otro lado. Sin decir nada. Sin decirse nada, años más tarde comprendieron que se habían dicho lo más importante.

Reían de lunes a domingo y algunas noches se les escuchaba llorar tras el armario.

—Te amo, Manolo.
—Yo te amo aún más, Alex.

Un lobo aullaba a distancia y la luna cabía en los ojos de Alex. Manolo quería entonces que todos los días del año fueran las 2:30 a.m. para apreciar su mirada que le trasmitía un tipo de paz que jamás había sentido.

Estaban arrodillados dentro del armario, uno viendo al otro, sus frentes estaban más cerca que de costumbre, la mano de Manolo rozaba las mejillas de Alex, se podía escuchar sus corazones latir al unísono y su respiración precipitarse.

—Eres la única estrella a la que quiero ascender en la vida. —Puso hincapié Alexander, mientras la distancia iba acortándose para finalmente llegar a sus labios.

Una estrella fugaz surcó el cielo; dos estrellas habían empezado a arder hasta compenetrarse y ser una sola. Brillar como una sola.

En aquella madrugada, Alex y Manolo, fueron uno. Ya no había más letras en el abecedario. Ni más ecuaciones que resolver.

Se tomaron de la mano y salieron juntos. Mientras el mundo ardía, ellos caminaron allá, donde el sol suele perderse. Vivieron la historia de la que jamás escribieron ni contaron a nadie. Sin fotografías ni pérdidas de tiempo. Se limitaron a vivir, y no a simplemente respirar; rompieron la sombra en la cual vivieron por separado para dar lugar a una luz que provenía de lo más puro de alguien: al amor.
—  Benjamín Griss
If you are a teenager now, it is unlikely that you knew us well. We are your shadow uncles, your angel godfathers, your mother’s or your grandmother’s best friend from college, the author of that book you found in the gay section of the library. We are characters in a Tony Kushner play, or names on a quilt that rarely gets taken out anymore. We are the ghosts of the remaining older generation. You know some of our songs.

We do not want to haunt you too somberly. We don’t want our legacy to be gravitas. You wouldn’t want to live your life like that, and you won’t want to be remembered like that, either. Your mistake would be to find our commonality in our dying. The living part mattered more. We taught you how to dance.
—  David Levithan, Two Boys Kissing.