Loving you is like spending my days living in those twenty minutes that follow sunset every time. And do not confuse the evening’s twilight with the one in the morning, for the sensation they shed outwards is quite different. I don’t know which I prefer, for I think of you throughout both of the moments anyway…
Moments of extreme privacy and no real action. Maybe that’s indeed a pretty accurate definition of us: the touch of night and day. It’s a known expression to us, isn’t it? All this symbology we’ve managed to find some fun around. We’re of the most romantic type, I must say.
Loving you is just about observing existence in a very sober looplike manner, always forward back to its low yet never limiting roots. A loop by one esteemed, hence our job of keeping it sewn together tight.
It’s thus fitting that I’m often so prone to amuse myself with the simplest thought of you. And it’s also often in such simple ways that I see us be together, one future later. My future has to be love; nothing else suffices. Never did and never will; or in that I do hope to remain believing.
Loving you is being fine with not being capable of coming up with the words I wanted to find to explain all this to you, or even almost to myself. But, furthermost, there is maybe nothing in need of being explained, and that’s the most scented part of it all — that one shall never feel too surprised by how amazing this is everyday turning out to become — there’s always something more, and if more then better!