The lover...

You're my favorite person.
You're my favorite person.

I didn't let you in my life, you entered my life. You may not see the nuance, but you should know it exists.

You came into my life and left me with the illusion of choice. You're not questioning any of them. You broke in when I wasn't expecting you. Since then, you've been my favorite person.

Your eyes are my favorite too. Your words, your voice and your opinions are the ones I listen to. Your body is the only one I want. Your presence is the only one I want. All the efforts and compromises I make for someone other than myself are not with you. Even my mind, an indescribable expert in questioning, says nothing about it. My heart speaks for me and the mind abdicates. I'm in love with you.

I'm in love with you.

The lover I am today has a heart that beats like the lover I was yesterday. Except that in the meantime, I had time to judge the lover that I was no longer for his impermanence, his lightness and his subjective conviction. It is then confusing to find myself in love again. To rediscover the devouring sensation of my heart that takes its rightful place, that of beating so loudly at the sight of another that nothing can be heard around. I hesitate between talking about madness or just the conviction of the heart. Deep down, is there any more powerful than the one motivated by the heart?

I'm in love with you. Push me around. Push me that I don't have to get used to you.

I look at your eyes and I'm afraid to get used to it. I could get used to the possibilities my eyes see when they look at yours so quickly. I might prefer the answers to the questions. I could build certainty and ask for promises. I could act like everyone else and think it's different.

Then push me around. Push me that I don't have to get used to you.

Maybe the lover I am won't always be there when you look at my eyes. I might be afraid of the possibilities my eyes see when they look at yours. I could invent questions, tired of knowing the answers. I could act differently, afraid to be like everyone else.

I'm in love with you. I'm in love with you, yes, but I am so many other things. Other things you don't see yet, things you don't know yet. Other things that will survive the impermanence, lightness and subjective conviction that dwells in me when I look at your eyes. Then I wonder:

Will love survive the lover?
You're my favorite person. That's how it happened, and that's the way it can go. It can start like this and one day, between the love feeling and the construction of the couple, we find the ability to make a choice.

It's a choice you can make on your own at the same time as you can make it on your own.

Will love survive the lover?
I hope so, because you're my favorite person.