You have asked why I’ve stopped writing. You’ve told me you don’t want me to give up on my passions; that I must never stop thinking; that I must always create; that I must not let you get in the way of doing what I love.
Lovely, your heart is a freight train which knocks me over and sends me flying into the fields. You do not understand. I am silenced by you. All the injustices about which I wrote are hushed in your affection. All the pain which I previously felt seems paltry compared to the goodness I have in you.
Don’t you see? There is nothing left for me to say.
Yes, I know there is still injustice which is done to us. We are an interracial gay couple – I am not unaware of the adversity we may face. I am not unaware that the world is not yet big enough for us.
But, even now, as I acknowledge these things, I keep thinking about how nervous you were when you expressed your feelings for me. I keep thinking about the night we stayed up until four o’clock in the morning, asking questions of each other and revealing the darkest parts of our pasts. I keep thinking about the day I left for my holiday, when you texted me telling me you didn’t think being apart from me would be so difficult.
I can force myself to write. I can force myself to create melodies. I can do these things, but let me say with the utmost sincerity that our relationship is my poem. Our affection is my melody. The way I love you is just as much a work of art produced by my bleeding heart as a verse of poetry or music, and it is just as satisfying.
Even now, as I write, I feel as though I am wasting time, when I could be expressing my love to you directly.
Oh! how my heart is afflicted. Love is inexplicably the best-worst thing to have ever happened.
Yrs. aff’ly, Captain