I write this letter as one carves a cry into paper, as one engraves a promise into time. Every word burns, every sentence is a soft revolt, a silent prayer against the world that wants to tear us apart.
They say we are not allowed to love each other. They say our souls should not intertwine, that our hearts beat to the wrong rhythm, that our gods must not cross paths. They set rules, they build walls between us, as if love should obey laws we never wrote.
But they know nothing about us. They do not know the force that binds us, the way our souls are drawn to each other with the irresistible pull of colliding stars, how our breaths recognize one another even amidst the chaos of the world. They have never seen your fingers brush against mine with a tenderness that overturns the entire universe, nor heard the harmony of our hearts beating in unison, as if we had always existed for each other, long before our bodies ever met.
They do not know the certainty of our nights, when darkness becomes a refuge for our whispers and our promises, when your body and mine speak a language only love's fever can understand.
They do not know the shivers running down my skin when you tell me your dreams, when we imagine our lives entwined, built brick by brick, defying rejection, fear, and prohibitions. They are blind to the spices we mix together, the burning pleasure of tasting what comes from the other, making it our own, transforming it into a new flavor that belongs only to us. They do not see our minds rising in the wonder of art, in the paintings where our gazes meet, in the music where our souls secretly dance.
They do not understand the intensity of the desire that consumes us, this fury to live, to love each other against all odds, this fire that does not die but ignites at every refusal, at every threat, at every attempt to make us kneel. They know nothing, yet they dare to judge us.
We are an impossible blend, yet an undeniable one. We are proof that love does not follow a path—it carves its own.
I dream of the day when we will no longer have to hide, when our hands will be free to clasp each other in the daylight without fearing the gaze of others. When our families will understand that what we are building is greater than their fears. I want them to see what we see: a future where our children will grow up between two cultures, two languages, free to embrace the best of both, nourished by the richness of our heritage, raised in love, not in prohibition.
But I know the road will be long. I know we will have to fight, to endure rejection, to face the doubt and anger of those who gave us life. Maybe they will never understand. Maybe we will have to move forward alone. But I would rather a thousand times choose exile with you than a life shackled by regret.
So tell me, my love… Will we dare to risk it all? Will we be reckless enough to believe that love can conquer what tries to deny it?
I am no longer afraid.
I love you. I love you with a love no one can erase, imprison, or break. And if one day this letter is all that remains of us, let it be the proof that we loved as few dare to love—without limits, without borders, without chains.
Yours, always.
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