One day, a guy tells me "Love is love! . Damn, he's got so much confidence that I believe him. I tell myself, you can't be so sure of yourself without being right. I'll take his words for cash and put them into practice. I'm failing. Lots of people come along and beat me "Love, that's it! ». Each time a different definition from the previous one. I swallow them. They're crooked. Last time, I said no. No. No. It's all over, but I'm gonna test it my way.
Tell me, don't you think there's always some guys out there to impose their thoughts on you? To remind you that their truth holds true for the whole world?
Very few will dare say to you,"You're on your own! ». Yet that's the important thing. Go live and find yourself. Nothing matters more than what you find out for yourself. There are many gurus of sentiment. They saw everything, lived everything, understood everything. Except for one thing. There's as many ways to feel as there are humans on Earth.
They told me that the madness of love was temporary. You don't like it when you're 20, you don't like it when you're 35 or 50. They have defined love in all that is most reasonable. They've identified every contour. But from the moment we theorize it, is it still there?
I looked at them with anger. It is these people who break the beliefs. These are the people who chain love together. Those who tell you that nothing lasts but illusion; to convince themselves that they could do nothing when they let him go. They polish each asperity to sweeten its intensity. They make morphine out of it: it alleviates pain, it anaesthetizes the delights. They end up believing it. That's the way it is. Not in any other way.
I don't give a shit about their lessons. I don't think love is frozen. Of course he's evolving, but as soon as we try to tame him, he's out of control. I don't know anyone who wants to stay in a cage. Not even circus animals. To live it, you have to untie your chains. Free its dark and luminous parts. He's that insubordinate one.
Well, look at the two of us. We didn't expect that. It took us one night, without warning. Happy happenings gather wandering souls. Two worlds wandering towards each other. One without anticipating the other. Till they intertwine. We weren't looking for anything. We expected everything. At the bend of a street, the glances meet, surprise, question and embrace each other. It was so hot, I told you something like,"Good night, shake hands?. You never let her go again.
There are many different ways of apprehending people. Sometimes you look at them. You're really looking at them. Everything changes.
We pass by a flood of individuals, without seeing them. No sorrow. We could have bumped into each other, noticed each other and fled on our own. Later, feel the weight of the sigh. You think we're getting over missing someone who would have messed it up? I don't think so, sir. It's latent, in a corner. A parenthesis where we don't really know. Which could have but won't be. We pretend it's exhausting. On Monday, Tuesday and every following day if we go that way; until the beast rises up and sends our cowardice back to us in the face. We had the courage not to pretend ignorance. It's a choice. That of reinventing everything, of making a finger at regrets.
We've got crazy eyes to tie up. In your eyes a nine-millimeter with no safety catch. I'm dropping the guns. Go ahead, shoot your bullets. I've always loved angry people. They intimidate me. My look on your face whispered "I want you here tonight," and you said,"Cap." Looks like a parade, something shamanic. Goddamn it, you're dancing like a foot! Tonight, you kidnapped me under the worst rules of art. I said,"Catch me if you can," and I let it happen. Two kidnappers, none innocent. I'm hiding in the backpack, you take it on your back. Let's get out of here! I saw my feet and fists not so tied together; except for the desire to be robbed. I'm not gonna lie to you, I didn't try to escape. If they catch us, the wrongdoers, how many years do we take? Perpetuity?
I let myself be overtaken by your eyes and your tender gestures; your fingers that touch me; the thrills of so much delicacy. I catch myself watching you sleep. I can pass a turn of the dial without closing my eyes. I feed on your hip contours. Your moles. I could even draw them. I want to whisper all this to you. We're not going to wait to say the words that make you feel good.
With you I have understood that it is not the blows of shards that disconcert me, it is the little attentions; to share my lemon meringue pie, whereas I would never have done it. Watching you sink out of your nose; kissing you anyway. Listening to you sing Celine Dion's song and crashing in. I could have written so many things about your smile and your lips that I wanted to come back. About the movements of your body against mine and my breath in the hollow of your neck. I could have written about your weird humor and modesty. It's just that all this, I'm saving it for later. For both of us.
You and I both know this is not neutral. That two of us is unreasonable. Sometimes chaotic, sometimes fantastic. Something's going down. It's like a slash along my being. A breach where the invisible becomes visible: my fears, my fragility, my tales. It's violent to reveal oneself, it's liberating to be in the real world.
You're my shit. The one that ruins my head and blows stakes in my stomach every time I text. The one that leads me to summits invisible to the naked eye, so high that I'm so fucking dizzy. This is creepy. It's all right. It's okay. Of course I am, I'm hooked. I don't feel like weaning myself. You think I'm weak? I think it's being strong to admit it. You're my heroin shot. I'm your dose of heroes. Without super-power. In the arena, I drop the mask. I'm getting naked. You're my heroine, the one who lives love out of line. Who dares. Who conquered those spaces between us. See, these emotions, they provoke each other. You have to fight to test them. At one point, we thought it was time. At the edge of the cliff, we jumped towards each other. We fell in love.
But what are the risks of starting from scratch? Nothing. Nothing.
We've taken it like it is, with our joys and breaks. With our moods. We tame them. Nothing is linear. Feelings are not mechanical. I'm a wild man. Yesterday, I didn't want to see anyone. Not even you. There are days without. In any case, we are not going to delude ourselves, we will not agree every time. There will always be those looks. They destroy, they magnify. Some crush, others grow. I like the way you look at me. I know, I'm not necessarily the best at it. I can be vexatious, cold and clumsy. In your eyes, I feel perfect to be imperfect. That gives confidence. In the other one. Anything that comes.
I don't dare to say it too much. I have the left verb. I miss you when you're not around. The others are here, enough to fill any void; not enough to fill yours. Because a person can fill you with a world, they can also depopulate it. It's like crapahuter at 6000 meters of altitude, I can scream, no echoes, no answer. My voice is choking, engulfed by silence. And I'm alone. I'm alone with you. So I'm telling you, my favorite part of it when you leave is when I see you again.
I want to show you how important you are. Now, now. Because I know that everything can stop, we didn't promise each other anything. Regardless, a relationship is not defined by the notion of time, but by what we live together in the moment. It's an everyday bet. Then we're going to fight. For us. We're not giving up anything. And even if it ends earlier than expected, we can say that something beautiful and unforgettable has happened to us. That maybe there weren't a lot of opportunities, but we knew how to seize one. That we jumped. That we risked ourselves. And deserved it.
You and I have a brush at our fingertips. We're painting. We're painting the moment. On the pallet, we imbue it with our history, our aspirations, our thoughts and our doubts. On the canvas, one chooses one side, one does not dare too much. The more blows you give, the more you reveal yourself. To the other one. To yourself. And we meet up. Two languages. Two ways of seeing the world. To change it. Mixing our strokes. You paint as you feel. With our failures, our excesses. We don't know what happens next, we create it. We sketch, we scribble. We can do whatever we want. As we can. It looks nothing like anything but us. This painting takes on the appearance of a struggle. Without victor or defeat. Neither wants to bring down the other. All moves are permitted provided victory is mutual. We paint who we are. I paint the way I love you. We paint to make it all up.