And I love you. I love you more than the sun and the moon. I love you more than cream and blueberries and gingerbread on a Sunday breakfast. I love you more than presents on the Christmas morning. More than a quiet sunset behind the roofs of Brezi. I love you more than the sea, and more than music. I love you more than life itself, and if I could fly up to the sky and float around, twirling and diving and backflipping and seeing all the birds above and all the cities below me, that would not match the excitement of seeing you. Because I love you.

And when I’m angry, I love you. And when I’m jealous, I love you. And when I’m far away doing tons and tons of other things, I still love you. And even when bitterness talks in me and I say I never want to see you again and I don’t like you, I still love you. And when a person loves somebody, they cannot be completely bitter. The bitterness retreats before it. And then I try to love you more. And when I think it must be impossible to love more, I realize that

you probably love me twice as much.

That makes me feel like a slacker. But a very warm, and cozy, and content slacker :) Because, I mean, being loved TWICE as much as blueberries and cream for breakfast? That’s something.