Monday, June 24, 2013

That Kind of Love

Not the puppy one, not the romantic-movie one. A real one.
Not dancing under the rain, kissing underwater (tried it, and not as good as i thought it would be).
I want us to be human, I want to take too long in the shower, I want you to complain about how long i take to put on my mascara. I don't want perfection. Perfection is boring. Flaws are great.
I want to hear about how bad was the traffic today, about you freaking out about the parking ticket, about your stupid workmate, about a nice stranger you met on the way home. I want to hear any little details about your day. I want to run into your arms at the airport after your work trip for 3 months.
I want that late night conversation. I want that talk over lunch, the argument that keeps us awake at 4 a.m, the make-up kisses.
I want to be there at your darkest hour, and i'll help you to pick which shirt color suits you better. Please help me to open a jar lid that I can't.
I want to congratulate you for your achievements, and tease you because you don't know who the hell Franca Sozzani is. I want you to tease me because I look chubbier, and convince me it was a joke even if it'd take a serious amount of time.
I want that beer and pizza on Friday night. Brunch on a public holiday, movie marathon on Saturday, or just snuggling on the couch talking unimportant things.

I don't dare to dream for you proposing with 20 carat diamond ring, or taking me in a private jet ride or pretend that life is a vacation. A happy ending, a future where we spend our retirement day in France. I wouldn't dare.
The fantasy is that i want to exist in reality of us and we will always have each other's back. For I'll be there on a rainy Sunday morning, and I will also be there when you need me on a depressing Wednesday night. It's a long way to the weekend, but we're getting there.

*inspired by "Tuesday Kind of Love" from Thought Catalog

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