Dearest

Matthew

I, Matthew Davis, had known I was gay from the moment the eyes of my twelve year old self met with those of the most beautiful boy I had ever seen, or will ever see: Tyrell Ames.

And, to my absolute delight, we became friends very quickly. Unlikely ones, sure. But friends nonetheless. Tom and Jerry, Frodo and Sam, some lanky adopted white pastors kid and a chunky black quarterback. Synonyms basically.

Ty is a lot of things: strong and smart, funny and brave, but most of all he's kind. He saves baby birds when they fall from their nests and he greets every single grandma on the streets (even though they do look kind of terrified sometimes). He doesn't swear and I know he does it for me. I'm going to become a pastor, so there is a 'no swearing policy' basically attached to my back. Ty is the only one who ever truly sticks to it.

When Ty talks to me I know that I'm the moon and he's the sun. That we're connected in a never ending dance of light and shadow, that there is nowhere else I can or want to turn to, that he's always there, facing me, unafraid.

He's handsome too. He was cute at thirteen sure but now ... Eyes darker than any Ink you've ever seen. Skin black and smooth, a bit paler in the winter and with funny tan stripes in the summer from running around in his ridiculous football outfit. He's always had broad shoulders but over the years he gained quite some weight and trained some muscles and now he's soft as they come but as strong as they're built.

It really wasn't a wonder for my gay little heart to fall for him and after all, what difference did it make? I was lucky enough to have a mother who asked that question.

If I had to stay abstinent, it didn't matter if from men or women. Besides, she would say, God only punishes the sinner not the one who is merely tempted.

But, in another way it does make a difference. It makes a difference because Ty looks at me like I'm the only person in this world sometimes, the only one who matters at least. Then I can physically feel the center of the universe narrowing down to the singular point where our eyes meet.

It makes a difference because when Ty notices I'm nervous he'll grab my shoulders, look into my eyes and say "it'll be okay," and all of a sudden it's not just that it will be, it's that it is.

It makes a difference because when we sit together (which is always) during movie nights with some of our friends he'll sit so close that my entire arm will prickle up and down. If he were a girl someone would have said something, I would have said something. Something about properness and temptation, but he isn't , he's a boy, he's my friend.

And he is the best friend I could ask for. He does this thing whenever I cry (which isn't that much but still a bit more than I'd like to admit), I think he hates seeing me cry. So whenever that does happen he'll stand very close, shrug his shoulders a bit to loosen up the fabric of the hoodies he always wears, pull the sleeves over his palms and then take my face into his hands, soaking up the tears, running his thumbs under my eyes. It calmed me down when I was twelve years old and it still calms me down now that I'm eighteen.

When my Mum passed away almost a year ago, he had to do it a lot. And he did. Held me together in his arms when I felt like I was falling apart. Slept in what was now my house with the ghost of my mother lingering around. Made sure I ate at least three spoon fulls each meal when I couldn't get out of bed for a while.

He loves me. I know that. I don't know if it compares to the love I have for him, the ache in my heart when I think of him or the burn in my eyes when he smiles at me, but I do know that he loves me.

It's heaven and hell.
Bliss and agony.
Love and loss.