Countless.

We spend countless of hours thinking of it.

I’ve written tens of thousands of words on it, since I opened this digital diary.

We spend our hearts on it. We breathe and we run and we come back, and we wanna run again towards all the insanity, towards all the chaos, to feel that somehow we’re living. We imagine it, we think of it on our anniversaries, on celebrations. We want to live it as we sketched it in our minds, nothing less, nothing more. And when we hurt, we say oh, I wish this would have never happened. I wish you and me never happened.

We break in time and we forget about it, we leave our made up photographs of it behind. We think we don’t deserve it, we let all our disappointments sadden us, and it taints the whole image. We walk more slowly, we feel we are tired, we look at the violet skies in the summer, laying on the grass, and we think, ah, where is it?

We think of it, still, because we feel colorless. We feel tired of reading about it, we want to feel it. We let go.

Countless. Days and hours, we chase this image of shared feelings, of closeness, of the airiness of the two in sync, we have it in our minds. It’s as if somehow we are trying to envisage a perfect moment and we put our expectations into it.

Countless poems and words and blog posts. Countless desires to see and to feel it.

But, the truth is, no moment is how we picture it. Because it would lose its authenticity. Its sense of awe. Its realness.

The truth is, we do spend countless hours days and thoughts on it. But we will feel it when it’s time to, and everything will not be as you imagined. But it will amaze you. Because it will be countless in itself. You’ll feel as if the moment is never ending. Because it’s yours. And his. And that, right there, at that moment, can never be taken away and it is countless and it is fearless and it is truthfulness. And you will witness that your life is unfolding in a surprising way, maybe. And that a myriad stars wrapping your seconds, melting them into this feel, into this spiral of smiles, of tender looks and touching lips, are not what you have been waiting/counting for. But MORE.

Countless.

Love,

O.

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