He stepped down, trying not to look long at her, as if she were the sun, yet he saw her, like the sun, even without looking.
Category: Love
In French, you don’t really say “I miss you”. You say “tu me manques”, which is closer to “you are missing from me”.
I love that. “You are missing from me”. You are a part of me, you are essential to my being. You are like a limb, or an organ, or blood. I cannot function without you.
And I understand. I understand why people hold hands: I’d always thought it was about possessiveness, saying ‘This is mine’. But it’s about maintaining contact. It is about speaking without words. It is about I want you with me and don’t go.
She wasn’t doing a thing that I could see, except standing there leaning on the balcony railing, holding the universe together.
I’m not a complicated girl, she laughed, I just want to run away with you, rob a bank, fall in love and eat ice creams in Paris.
It was only a smile
But my heart it went wild
I wasn’t expecting thatIt was only a word
It was almost misheard
I wasn’t expecting that
But it came without fear
A month turned into a year
I wasn’t expecting thatI thought love wasn’t meant to last
Honey, I thought you were just passing through
If I ever get the nerve to ask
What did I get right to deserve somebody like you?
I wasn’t expecting that
‘I love you’ means that I accept you for the person that you are, and that I do not wish to change you into someone else. It means that I will love you and stand by you even through the worst of times. It means loving you even when you’re in a bad mood, or too tired to do the things I want to do. It means loving you when you’re down, not just when you’re fun to be with. ‘I love you’ means that I know your deepest secrets and do not judge you for them, asking in return that you do not judge me for mine. It means that I care enough to fight for what we have and that I love you enough not to let go. It means thinking of you, dreaming of you, wanting and needing you constantly, and hoping you feel the same way for me.
I wish I knew why he left. What his reasons were. Why he changed his mind.
For all these years, I have turned it over in my head—all the possibilities—yet none of them make any sense.
And then I think, perhaps it was because he never loved me. But that makes the least sense of all.