you are devil’s foreplay

It’s common knowledge that almost always there is one participant of the relationship that loves more than the other. Well, I very well might be the more-loving-one, and I actually really don’t care. Selfish reasons, really - it makes me feel good. It makes me feel really good to love someone that much. You see - selfish. Utterly selfish.

And, of course, the feeling that you’re being loved back - there’s nothing like it. Wonderful. See - selfish again. So my big promises about becoming less selfish person have not really come together yet.

Today, again, I had this mind-blowing sensation watching him march so proudly in front of all those uniformed men, standing so steadily next to flags, that, and I’m saying this being totally sober, I have never been so proud of anybody in my entire life.

And the other options, I mean, the ones I really don’t want to talk about (’cause they’re not the issue anymore), are not even close to that.

Okay, yeah, he’s a bit weird, and totally nerdy sometimes, but he’s my weirdo and nerd, you see.

And the little things. Ah, the little things. I love the little things. Our picnics and morning coffees and late night walks and this feeling you have when there’s someone to push your back to at nights.

Sleeping issues are another topic, since I have this weird system how to manage all my dear ones in one bed. You put one Musi, one furry cat and one fat cat, and me, into one medium-sized bed, shake and stir, and you have a working cocktail of love. Easy, right?