You don’t need to die for each other to make this exciting. Just the fact that you’re here, together – that’s epic enough.

Even if a creator made a character to be straight, they put those characters out into the world, right? So those characters are mine now. And I say that Steve and Bucky are gay as hell.

The straights say that we’ve got an agenda to turn people gay,” Marisol says, “but then will try to force toddlers on each other and say it’s so cute and they’re destined to get married. Seriously.

I see at least one thing a day that makes me wonder if the straight people are all right.

It takes time. Grief takes a lot of forms, and it stays with you until the end of your days. Isn’t that right?

The idea of not being alone – of having someone who sees me, same way I see the things that no one else can see, makes me feel like I’m real. Like I deserve to exist on this planet alongside everyone else. That I get to be here because there’s someone else who wants me here too.

No one else gets to define who I am. Only me.

It’s easier to accept hurt and pain, sometimes, than love and acceptance.

Second of all,” he says, “it doesn’t matter what they think. It only matters what you think. Do you think you’re worthy of respect and love?” My mouth is still open, but now, no sound comes out. “I think you are,” he tells me, still watching me – totally unashamed to be staring.

What does it feel like, to love someone so much that you’re willing to publicly bare your heart and soul with a black Sharpie?