What you said on Friday was not lost on me, although it was swept up in the rest of the conversation. I’m talking about what you said about your feelings for me. I meant it today when I said I really had no idea that’s how it was for you.

I think I told you a little while back that I sort of assumed you stopped thinking about me unless you were with me or talking to me. I don’t know why I assumed this. I supposed I also knew that, on some other level, that of course you thought about me. Now that I’m writing this out, I’m realizing exactly how silly it was to assume you didn’t think about me.

But I guess that’s why I was so touched by my coffee mugs. I was also amazed by the fact you wrote about me at all, good or bad, in your journal. Or that you saved my damned love notes. I don’t know why I’m so taken aback by things like this. It’s not as if I don’t know in my heart that you love me.

Like, you really love me. You love me so much that you feel like you can’t love another lover. That sucks, but only because it makes you inclined to excise me. I understand how it is to love like that. It’s how I love you. I make it work for me by letting myself sit in the joy of it. Everyone around me, including Tim, gets so much more out of me because of the happy energy I get from loving you.

I don’t know if that’s something that could be helpful to you or not. At the very least, know that the love we share is positively impactful on my life and, by proxy, the lives of everyone else I know. I love you, Craig, and loving you is my greatest accomplishment.