Romeo drank poison for love.
Jack froze to death in the North Atlantic.
Allie gave up wealth and status for Noah’s sweaty carpentry chest.
And Matthew?
Matthew moved to Abilene, Texas.
And that, dear reader, is what we call a real-ass love story.
Let’s be honest—every great romance needs a setting.
Pride and Prejudice had the English countryside.
When Harry Met Sally had New York in the fall.
The Notebook had vintage humidity and prolonged eye contact in a canoe.
But ours? Ours takes place in a town with more churches than working stoplights. A town where the nightlife consists of Sonic Drive-In and quiet despair. A town where there are exactly zero gay bars, but at least six Christian bookstores with names like “Sanctified Pages” and “God’s Word, God’s Word, God’s Word Again.”
And still, this man said yes.
To me.
To Abilene.
To us.
He chose love over logic.
Over meth crime statistics.
Over having neighbors who believe drag queens are a bigger threat than lead paint and open carry.
To be clear: I did not trick him.
He knew what he was getting into.
I described Abilene honestly, like a Yelp review written in tears:
- “It’s the kind of place where someone will offer you a casserole and then report you to the HOA.”
- “There’s more Jesus than trees.”
- “It smells like diesel and moral panic.”
And Matthew—this gentle, grounded, funny, impossibly kind man—still said, “Sure. Let’s go.”
He left behind a life with options. With culture. With brunch.
He moved into a town where the most progressive business is a Target and the local Pride event is just two lesbians walking their rescue dogs past Hobby Lobby.
Let me put it in romcom terms, since that’s the only language most people understand love in:
- In Love, Actually, he holds up cue cards.
- In You’ve Got Mail, he ruins her bookstore and then marries her.
- In The Holiday, they fly overseas for personal growth.
In our story, Matthew said:
“I will uproot my life and relocate to a town with no Trader Joe’s, no queer infrastructure, and a community theater production of Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat that’s somehow still homophobic. Because I love you.”
That’s not romantic comedy. That’s emotional sci-fi.
Queer love is often a quiet revolution.
We don’t get parades for it. We get warnings.
We don’t get fairy tale endings. We get extra locks and side glances.
So when someone says: “Yes, I see you. Yes, I want this. Yes, even here…”
It matters. More than the big gestures.
Matthew didn’t run toward glitter and spectacle.
He ran toward me.
He said, “You are worth the inconvenience.”
“You are worth the flat landscapes and the judgmental cashiers.”
“You are worth Abilene.”
Do I worry about him here? Absolutely.
Do I watch him navigate this place with more grace than I thought possible? Constantly.
Do I look at him while we’re in line at a gas station that sells both honey buns and Bibles and think, How is this man real?
Every. Fucking. Day.
Because Matthew is the kind of love they don’t write about.
Not in Hollywood. Not in Hallmark movies. Certainly not in Abilene’s Sunday bulletin.
He’s soft where I’ve hardened.
Steady where I spiral.
Hopeful even here.
So to Matthew:
Thank you for choosing me over comfort.
Over convenience.
Over basic civil rights infrastructure.
Thank you for standing by me in a town where the Pride flag is a private risk, not a public celebration.
Thank you for holding my hand when the stares linger too long.
Thank you for reminding me—daily—that love doesn’t require good lighting or the perfect zip code. It just requires showing up.
You could’ve had Sunday mimosas and art installations and friends who say things like “chosen family” unironically.
Instead, you chose a place with no brunch, one antique mall, and a congregation for every bad haircut.
And you chose me.
Final Thought:
Matthew moved to Abilene, Texas—for love.
Romeo and Juliet had it easy.
Jack and Rose died in under four hours.
Even Noah and Allie didn’t have to Google “Is this Bible college accredited?”
But Matthew?
He’s here.
He’s mine.
He’s surviving on H‑E‑B and my neuroses.
And that, my friends, is the realest damn love story you’ll ever hear.