I used to tell him - " you are not my boyfriend, you are my love". He never really understood the difference but he always felt the same for me . I liked walking with one of my hands around his waist but people stared at us in such a weird way if it was a sin to be in love. He told me many times that he feared the culture and society and used to convince him that how one day everyone will accept us .
But last year, this day, he gave up. He gave up on thus cruel society and he gave up on his life. I did not kill myself but each day without him is no less than hell. But I promised his dead body that I will live and cherish our love, no matter what anyone says.

* a paragraph from a diary of gay lover in 1870's , India*