We cannot escape our fever of finding love, a physical love, a sentimental love, the mere tenderness of someone. Forming our love in words, in thoughts, in actions that may ever happen. Questions that split our hearts and open our mouths to show our teeth, or may slip into a couple of tears. How infinite is our holding to the believe of finding love.
I cherish you my dear, just the right amount of dose, not too less, not too much. I don’t want a boring love story to tell grandchildren later on. I just find taste of life besides you. I want to be joyful, adventurous. I do not need drama, not extreme emotional situations that breaks us into an euphoria to shortly be shattered into despair. I don’t want nothing but sharing. I do not need a nanny, a father or a psychotherapist. I do not look for a holy match, raw souls that cling into each other. No.
“Here. Here is simple and happy. That’s what I meant to give you.”