And then I got that the point is that I live in love, and this way it must be...
In love for falling in love, for knowing and discovering, for revealing the intricacies that take you over your own reason, that take you beyond the second of reticences that permeates your audacious words. I fall in love for watching you revealing yourself, shy and bold, using expressions that make you blush, thinking about things you don't imagine thinking; but you do, and that alows you to conduce your fingers over your body, your pudency, 'till reaching the keys of which, like me, you may have. But your propriety and furor transform you, letter by letter, and so they tell me, the fingers, where they had been, what they had seen, what they had done and what they don't want me to know, ever! I fall in love for watching you abandoning yourself in your own, delivering yourself with no reservations, no masks, no right terms... I fall in love for watching you unabashed and provocative, cruel, playing with me even aware, that you already are, beforehand, the winner.
I fall in love for imagining where you are, and what you think about. I fall in love for thinking what touch your lips now: if other portion of lunch, if your softness of one more sip of wine, if the pen that follows your criativity.
I fall in love for being on your wait in the end of the day, not needing to say if mine was tiring or not, because, afterall, you'll come: and seen your smile, trying your smell, felling your touch, there is nothing else that matters to me.
So I hear you, and whatever is sharing the events or any other fact, I make myself as a partner and realize, again, why you are the one that completes me, and I ask myself why I am your choice.
And then I get that the point, about any other thing, is you.
While for me, it is only, surrendered, falling in love again.
